Stu

I grew up during the 1970s and early 1980s in a small farming town in the mountains of Costa Rica. My father was not a farmer; instead, he bought the potatoes and carrots produced by the family farmers in our town, and he sold them to vendors in retailers in nearby cities like San Jose and Cartago. We were not wealthy, even by Costa Rica’s modest standards, but neither were we poor. We always had food, a roof over our head, and, of course, enough clothes and shoes for everyone in the family. During my childhood, I always remember seeing women in high heels. My mother, aunts, cousins, family friends – all wore heels. The single women tended to wear the higher stiletto heels, while the married women wore lower and more conservative wide heels, but flat shoes on women were a rare site. To me, high heels were as inevitable a part of growing up and becoming a woman as developing breasts and menstruating. I first asked my parents for a pair of heels when I was 13, and I was told no. When I was 15, my parents bought me a pair of loafers with 2-inch block heels. I was only allowed to wear them on weekends. Indeed, I wore them with relish, and particularly to Mass on Sundays. The church was the one place in town where women liked to show off their best heels, thanks largely to the captive audience of chuchgoers. Lots of young women found any reason at all to walk up and down the aisles during the service, with their heels clicking on the hard floor. Nobody seemed to mind, and I joined right along. When I turned 16, my parents bought me new loafers with a 2-1/2-inch heel. They then bought me a pumps with a slightly narrower 3-inch heel when I turned 17. The same rules applied: I could wear them only on weekends. Two months before my 18th birthday, I received a sneak preview of my next present: those wonderful, strappy 4-inch stiletto sandals. I practiced walking in them in the house, with my mother and an older cousin supervising me and giving me tips on how to walk properly in them, like a true tica. In Costa Rica, it is not enough simply to wear high heels. Instead, a woman must develop her own style of walking. In truth, a truly proficient high heel wearer would develop several different walking styles – elegant, flirty, even sexy and seductive. There was no way I could become an expert in the two months prior to turning 18, but my mother and cousin were able to give me the basics. My mother took out her own pair of 4-inch stiletto pumps, which I had only seen her wear on a relative handful of special occasions. Within seconds, she was strutting around the house like a woman 20 years her junior, and she put on an exhibition of sensuous movements of her cola that even made me blush. “You think I was never young? You think I was never interested in impressing men? Think again,” my mother said to me as she laughed. “Of course, there were a lot of reasons why your father fell in love with me. But my walking style in high heels did not hurt.” Yes, mothers teach those things to their daughters in Costa Rica. After my 18th birthday party, I was allowed to wear high heels whenever I wanted. My flat and lower-heel shoes went in the closet forever, and virtually overnight I became a full-time wearer of 4-inch heels. My cousin, whose shoe size was the same as mine, gave me a couple of pairs of her 4-inch heels, and my parents bought me another pair within a few months of my 18th birthday. Those four pairs of shoes carried me a long way. My loose clothing also gradually gave way to tight pants and skirts that shamelessly advertised my feminine figure. My parents beamed with pride in the morning when I would walk out of the house in my 4-inch stilettos and tight clothing. In the eyes of Costa Rican society, I was an attractive, sociable woman with a good upbringing, and someday soon I would become a desirable mate for some worthy man. I was a credit to my community and to my country. In Costa Rica, style counts for a lot. Strutting through town in my stilettos, I loved the fact that so many adults I had known my whole life would come up to me and tell me how fast I had matured, and how lovely I was. I also loved the attention I received from boys my own age. The compliments bolstered my self-confidence, and the more confident I became, the more compliments I got. Oddly enough, I liked to spend time during that period with our local priest, a handsome man in his late 30s. I would walk into church during the week in my stilettos, and offer to do little errands to help him out. I always loved to turn and give him a nice, sensuous wiggle whenever I left the church. I was not trying to seduce him. I simply felt badly that a nice man like him could not date or marry, and I wanted to be at least a little feminine presence in his life. I think he appreciated it, as he always seemed glad to see me, and he frequently complimented me on my appearance. I graduated from high school at about the same time that I turned 18. For the first year after high school, I attended a one-year secretarial training program in Cartago, which was only a short bus ride away. The students in the program were primarily 18-year-old women like me. At least two-thirds of us wore 3- to 4-inch heels on a regular basis, and we soon divided into two general groups: those who wore heels, and those who did not. In retrospect, I regret not paying much attention to the flat-shoe wearers, as most of them were good people. I was still immature in that regard. After one year, I graduated from the secretarial program with honors, and was ready to start my first job. I was hired as a sales clerk in the only real store in my little town. The store was a little bit of everything. It had started as a savings and loan where the farmers of our town could get loans and deposit their savings. The savings and loan remained its core business, but it was so successful that it expanded to also sell clothes and agricultural supplies. Naturally, I was assigned to the clothing department. My parents were delighted that I was hired, and I soon found out why. Virtually everyone in town frequented the store and got to know the employees on a first-name basis. At age 19, I was now one of the most visible women in my little town. Women would come in throughout the day to look at clothes, and I would help them with their questions and their purchases. Being well-dressed gave me credibility with them, and it helped me maintain my good reputation. The atmosphere at the store would change greatly in the late afternoon, when the men would come into the store after a day of work in their fields to buy farming supplies, chat among themselves, and also to look at us. In those afternoon hours, I easily had 10 or more pairs of male eyes focused on me at any moment as I went about my duties. I would walk up to the men, say hello, flirt with a few of them and then wiggle my way back to my duties. I loved the attention because my family and my culture had raised me to view this kind of attention as a compliment. No one ever expressed concern about my on-the-job flirting with the men, because this was also acceptable in Costa Rica. I (along with my fellow female employees) were bringing in customers to the store, and making the store an indispensable part of community life. It never occurred to me until I moved to the United States that such workplace behavior could be considered unprofessional. There were two women at the store, Rita and Victoria, who had a big influence on my life. Rita, the assistant store manager, was an attractive black-haired woman in her early 30s. She was married with three children. It was somewhat exceptional in my town for married women to have full-time employment, but Rita was an exception to everything. While most married women rarely wore any heels higher than 3 inches in public, Rita wore 4-inch stilettos to work on most days. She also had an affinity for relatively tight dresses (although not as tight as mine, but the comparison is an unfair one because I was still single). Rita also flirted more than most married women. But what impressed me most about Rita was her intelligence. She had worked at the store for a number of years, and knew every square inch of it. When things went wrong and the store owner was out, Rita took charge to make things right. One day, I was so busy flirting with several men that I put the wrong price tags on several articles of clothing. Rita noticed this, and called me into a back room. “You know, Ana, you are a very attractive, personable young woman,” she said. “The management likes you because you bring in customers, both men and women. You can keep this job for several years without learning anything new or improving yourself. But in five years, there will be new 19-year-olds who will attract more customers to the store than you. If you learn this business and do your job right, you can be promoted to more important jobs. If you don’t, you better hope you have good marriage prospects, because you will not have much of a future here. You seem to have a good head, Ana. Start using it.” Rita was right, and I knew it. After that, I redoubled my efforts to learn all I could about the store and to do my job well. I still flirted with the men and wiggled in their presence, but I learned how to not let that distract me from doing my job. Over time, I learned an incredible lesson: My potent feminine expression would have an even bigger impact on people if they could see I was smart and effective on the job. The physical and the intellectual reinforce each other rather well. Unfortunately, I could see that Rita was sad and frustrated much of the time, despite her important job. The rumors in town were that her marriage was not going well, and that she was even involved in extra-marital affairs. I can look back at her now and know that, if she had been born and raised in the United States, she would have gone to college and had a high-powered career. But those kinds of opportunities are not available to women in small towns in Costa Rica. Rita was indeed trapped. As I will explain later, I often thought of Rita when I had to make important decisions in my own life. She was both a role model for me, and a model of what I did not want to become. Victoria was also an important influence on me, but for completely different reasons. She was the secretary and personal assistant to the store’s owner, which made her the highest-ranking woman in the business. Rita may have been the problem solver, but when the owner was out (which was often), Victoria was in charge of the entire operation. She had a pretty figure and long, brown hair that was just a slightly lighter shade than mine. Perhaps most significantly, she was 29 years old and single. Costa Ricans get very traditional when it comes to marriage. They believe that a healthy, well-adjusted woman should be married by about the age of 25. Women who reach their late 20s without getting married are viewed with some suspicion, as if there may be something wrong with them. They are under continuous social pressure to prove that they are still feminine and desirable. An important way that Costa Rican society gives these women to prove their femininity is to exempt them from many of the social rules that apply to everyone else. High heels are perhaps the best example. As much as Costa Ricans revere high heels, there is a general taboo against wearing heels higher than 4 inches on a regular basis. However, this limit does not apply to single women beginning in their mid-20s. It is socially acceptable for these women to move up to 5-inch heels, as if they need the extra height to reassure others as to their femininity. These women also can wear tighter clothing and engage in even more flirtatious behavior than younger, single women. Victoria seemed to enjoy the freedoms that society granted her. She wore 5-inch heels on most days, along with the tightest clothing of anyone who worked at the store. She was very outgoing, and usually emerged from her office in the afternoon to join us in flirting with the men who would gather in the store. As much as I enjoyed the attention I got during these daily flirt sessions, Victoria was clearly the main attraction. She would wiggle up to the men, stand close to them, laugh at their jokes and tease them with her own. I am certain the men looked forward to her daily demonstrations of flirting, and who could blame them? She was a master at walking in heels, and I learned a lot by observing her. She had at least five different walking styles – a normal walk mode, an elegant style she employed for senior citizens and important visitors, a sensuous style she used with younger women, and two sexy styles that she utilized in front of men. She could switch styles in an instant, depending on who was in sight of her. I was supposed to feel a little sorry for Victoria, because she was about to turn 30 and was still not married. Instead, I grew to envy her. She seemed to enjoy her 5-inch heels so much that I wanted to try wearing them. However, I was too young, and could not wear anything like them without causing a scandal that would have embarrassed my family and jeopardized my job. I also envied the way she could dress and flirt more daringly than the rest of us. I did not think of her attire and behavior as a last-ditch effort to attract a good man; instead, I saw it as a rebellious expression of freedom that I might want to try myself some day. These were radical thoughts for a small-town, Costa Rican girl, and I did not share them with anyone. Victoria took obvious pride in the fact that she wore the highest heels in the store, and there was one occasion when I succumbed to the temptation to imitate her – or, more accurately, to challenge her. On Fridays, it was common for the female employees to dress down by wearing lower-heel shoes. Many of my co-workers and I moved down to 3-inch heels on Fridays, which cleared the way for Victoria to move down to 4-inch heels. I borrowed a pair of 4-1/2-inch heels from my cousin with the intent of wearing them to work on a Friday, even though the shoes were really only meant for special occasions. On the day I wore them to work, I noted with satisfaction that Victoria had indeed worn a pair of 4-inch heels, which meant that I was wearing the highest heels of anyone. I got a number of compliments, including a grudging one from Victoria. My triumph, however, was a short one. During the morning break, Victoria went home and returned in a pair of 5-inch stilettos with a needle-thin heel, and the tightest pants I had ever seen her wear up to that time. She strutted up to me later that morning and said to me, “Do not be in such a rush to move up, Ana. You do not know what I had to go through to earn the right to wear what I wear. Stay away from things you do not understand.” To emphasize her displeasure with me, she reassigned me for the rest of the day to take inventory in one of the back storage rooms. I never challenged her again! To be continued.

Prequel: Ana’s Experiences in Costa Rica

This story was written in the first-person by Ana, with assistance from Steve.

The high-heel shoes stood on the wood floor by the foot of my bed. They were beautiful black, strappy sandals, with four-inch stilettos that seemed to demand one’s full attention. It seemed impossible that these could be my shoes. I had seen such shoes all my life, but always on the feet of other women. Someday, I was told, I would be able to wear shoes like those. And now, incredibly, that day had come.

It was my 18th birthday, and my parents had invited family and friends over to celebrate the occasion. Aunts and uncles, cousins, my grandparents, family friends of my parents, and many of my friends were in the house. I had greeted them as they entered, and spent the early part of the afternoon socializing with them in the living room. Then my mother looked at her watch and quietly motioned me to go to my room. It was time for the next stage of the party, as we had planned. I quietly left the living room, went into my bedroom, and closed the door.

Those steps I took before shutting my bedroom door were the last ones of my childhood.

It felt strange being alone in my room. There were three beds in the room – one was for me, and two for my younger sisters. Very few children in Costa Rica had the luxury of having their own bedroom, and I was certainly not one of them. But mom and dad had made sure that, on this special day, I would have my room to myself.

I had been wearing a simple blouse, plain jeans and two-inch block heels prior to entering my room. This had been my basic attire for the last two years or so, and as much as I had wanted to shed them for something better, I felt sad doing so. But there would be time later for feeling sentimental about such things. I took off my shoes, and unzipped my pants. I hung the pants up neatly in my closet, perhaps for the last time. I then picked up the pair of pants that my parents had folded neatly and left on my bed. They were black, and made of a clingy, polyester-like material. I had never worn such pants before, even though I had long wanted to do so. As I pulled them up, I looked at myself in the mirror, and my heart started to beat a little stronger. The pants were outlining my thighs, hips and waist far more explicitly than anything I had worn in the past. I had studied myself in the mirror countless times, but I had never seen myself quite like that.

With my pants properly zipped, I looked down and turned my attention to the stilettos on the floor. I moved them to the middle of the floor, and eased myself into them, first my right foot and then my left. I momentarily lost my sense of balance, as it felt like the shoes were making me fall forward. I reacted by thrusting my hips out slightly and arching my back. I felt back in balance, at least somewhat. My pants felt so tight, and the shoes had twisted my feet into a semi-vertical position and forced me to assume this strange posture. I turned back to the mirror and fixated on what I saw. My hips and waist appeared curvier than before. I turned to the side and looked at the shape of my cola, which is the Spanish term for rear end. I also observed my suddenly longer legs, and my now-twisted feet. It reminded me of the women I had long admired as they walked down the street wearing their high heels. I had dreamed for years about looking like this, and now that it was happening, it seemed so surreal. It was almost as if I had simply borrowed someone’s body, and that, when the day was over, I would return to the little girl’s body I had known all my life.

This was not the first time I had worn 4-inch stilettos. I had practiced walking in them in the house on several occasions in the past, but never with guests in the house. And I had never worn them with pants like this. I took a few practice steps around my room, and was able to walk comfortably as I had done in those earlier practice sessions. But this was different. I walked to the bedroom door and started to open it, but I had to take one last look at the room, at the little girl’s life I was leaving behind. I would be sleeping in this room tonight, but it would not be the same.

I opened the door and started down the hallway, my heels clomping loudly on the wood floor. I entered the living room. A few relatives saw me, their conversations stopped and they looked at me approvingly. Then my father saw me, walked up to me, and shouted, “Hello, everyone! I have someone that I want you to see. Behold my beautiful daughter, Ana!”

As I walked to the center of the room, relatives and friends that I had known all my life cheered. A few of the men whistled, and I could hear some of the women telling each other how beautiful I was. I stood in the center of the room and turned to the side, sharing with everyone my new feminine profile, enhanced by those magical stiletto heels. The applause went on and on, and it was one of the very proudest moments of my life.

I was no longer a little girl. I had become a tica, a Costa Rican woman. And my life would never, ever be the same.

*** *** ***

When people from the United States express their patriotism, they normally talk about the freedom they enjoy in their country, and its prosperity. The land of the free and the home of the brave. When Costa Ricans express their patriotism, they remind everyone that their little nation is the oldest and most stable democracy in Latin America, and the only country in the western hemisphere that does not have a military. And, in many cases, they say proudly that Costa Rican women are the most beautiful in the world.

The adoration of beautiful women permeates much of Costa Rican culture. I do not know how this began. Many cultures, particularly in Latin America, place a premium on feminine beauty, and at some point Costa Ricans put their own special twist on it. It makes us feel special. Unlike countries like Mexico and Peru, Costa Rica had no great Indian civilizations, and therefore we have no indigenous culture to incorporate into our national identity. Costa Rica was originally settled by small family farmers from Europe who built no great cathedrals, opera houses, or museums. But we have our women, and they are the ones who make Costa Rica special. Whether they are the most beautiful in the world is a matter of personal opinion. But the country operates as if they are.

The nation’s obsession with beauty is focused primarily on single women between the ages of 18 and approximately 25. Life for many of these women can resemble a seven-year-long beauty pageant. They primp and preen constantly, squeeze themselves into tight, form-fitting clothing, and wear high heels almost exclusively. They smile a lot, flirt with men of all ages, and soak up the attention like sponges. And they do get attention. Soccer may be the favorite sport of Costa Ricans, but the national pastime is looking at women. Everyone in Costa Rica looks at women – men and women, the old and the young, even little children look at women. They are all judges in this 24-7 beauty pageant, evaluating the figures and the poise of these women, how well they dress, and how well they walk in their high heels. In part, these young, single women are engaging in an elaborate mating ritual, in which they compete for the attention and affection of young, single men. But the women are also competing for the hearts of other Costa Ricans as well. Every town, village and community in the country takes pride in its beautiful, young women. Costa Ricans are not an entrepreneurial people, and they do not measure their wealth by national income levels, exports, or production of key commodities. As long as there are beautiful women in the streets, they are satisfied that things are going well.

Of course, not everyone in Costa Rica buys into the culture of beauty and femininity. Many young women avoid heels and attractive clothing, and there are even families that prohibit their daughters from dressing or behaving in any way that attract attention. My family was not one of those. We were enthusiastic participants in a culture that worshipped beautiful women, their high heels, and their colas. And I am glad we were.

To be continued.

Prequel: Ana’s Experiences in Costa Rica

This story was written in the first-person by Ana, with assistance from Steve.

The high-heel shoes stood on the wood floor by the foot of my bed. They were beautiful black, strappy sandals, with four-inch stilettos that seemed to demand one’s full attention. It seemed impossible that these could be my shoes. I had seen such shoes all my life, but always on the feet of other women. Someday, I was told, I would be able to wear shoes like those. And now, incredibly, that day had come.

It was my 18th birthday, and my parents had invited family and friends over to celebrate the occasion. Aunts and uncles, cousins, my grandparents, family friends of my parents, and many of my friends were in the house. I had greeted them as they entered, and spent the early part of the afternoon socializing with them in the living room. Then my mother looked at her watch and quietly motioned me to go to my room. It was time for the next stage of the party, as we had planned. I quietly left the living room, went into my bedroom, and closed the door.

Those steps I took before shutting my bedroom door were the last ones of my childhood.

It felt strange being alone in my room. There were three beds in the room – one was for me, and two for my younger sisters. Very few children in Costa Rica had the luxury of having their own bedroom, and I was certainly not one of them. But mom and dad had made sure that, on this special day, I would have my room to myself.

I had been wearing a simple blouse, plain jeans and two-inch block heels prior to entering my room. This had been my basic attire for the last two years or so, and as much as I had wanted to shed them for something better, I felt sad doing so. But there would be time later for feeling sentimental about such things. I took off my shoes, and unzipped my pants. I hung the pants up neatly in my closet, perhaps for the last time. I then picked up the pair of pants that my parents had folded neatly and left on my bed. They were black, and made of a clingy, polyester-like material. I had never worn such pants before, even though I had long wanted to do so. As I pulled them up, I looked at myself in the mirror, and my heart started to beat a little stronger. The pants were outlining my thighs, hips and waist far more explicitly than anything I had worn in the past. I had studied myself in the mirror countless times, but I had never seen myself quite like that.

With my pants properly zipped, I looked down and turned my attention to the stilettos on the floor. I moved them to the middle of the floor, and eased myself into them, first my right foot and then my left. I momentarily lost my sense of balance, as it felt like the shoes were making me fall forward. I reacted by thrusting my hips out slightly and arching my back. I felt back in balance, at least somewhat. My pants felt so tight, and the shoes had twisted my feet into a semi-vertical position and forced me to assume this strange posture. I turned back to the mirror and fixated on what I saw. My hips and waist appeared curvier than before. I turned to the side and looked at the shape of my cola, which is the Spanish term for rear end. I also observed my suddenly longer legs, and my now-twisted feet. It reminded me of the women I had long admired as they walked down the street wearing their high heels. I had dreamed for years about looking like this, and now that it was happening, it seemed so surreal. It was almost as if I had simply borrowed someone’s body, and that, when the day was over, I would return to the little girl’s body I had known all my life.

This was not the first time I had worn 4-inch stilettos. I had practiced walking in them in the house on several occasions in the past, but never with guests in the house. And I had never worn them with pants like this. I took a few practice steps around my room, and was able to walk comfortably as I had done in those earlier practice sessions. But this was different. I walked to the bedroom door and started to open it, but I had to take one last look at the room, at the little girl’s life I was leaving behind. I would be sleeping in this room tonight, but it would not be the same.

I opened the door and started down the hallway, my heels clomping loudly on the wood floor. I entered the living room. A few relatives saw me, their conversations stopped and they looked at me approvingly. Then my father saw me, walked up to me, and shouted, “Hello, everyone! I have someone that I want you to see. Behold my beautiful daughter, Ana!”

As I walked to the center of the room, relatives and friends that I had known all my life cheered. A few of the men whistled, and I could hear some of the women telling each other how beautiful I was. I stood in the center of the room and turned to the side, sharing with everyone my new feminine profile, enhanced by those magical stiletto heels. The applause went on and on, and it was one of the very proudest moments of my life.

I was no longer a little girl. I had become a tica, a Costa Rican woman. And my life would never, ever be the same.

*** *** ***

When people from the United States express their patriotism, they normally talk about the freedom they enjoy in their country, and its prosperity. The land of the free and the home of the brave. When Costa Ricans express their patriotism, they remind everyone that their little nation is the oldest and most stable democracy in Latin America, and the only country in the western hemisphere that does not have a military. And, in many cases, they say proudly that Costa Rican women are the most beautiful in the world.

The adoration of beautiful women permeates much of Costa Rican culture. I do not know how this began. Many cultures, particularly in Latin America, place a premium on feminine beauty, and at some point Costa Ricans put their own special twist on it. It makes us feel special. Unlike countries like Mexico and Peru, Costa Rica had no great Indian civilizations, and therefore we have no indigenous culture to incorporate into our national identity. Costa Rica was originally settled by small family farmers from Europe who built no great cathedrals, opera houses, or museums. But we have our women, and they are the ones who make Costa Rica special. Whether they are the most beautiful in the world is a matter of personal opinion. But the country operates as if they are.

The nation’s obsession with beauty is focused primarily on single women between the ages of 18 and approximately 25. Life for many of these women can resemble a seven-year-long beauty pageant. They primp and preen constantly, squeeze themselves into tight, form-fitting clothing, and wear high heels almost exclusively. They smile a lot, flirt with men of all ages, and soak up the attention like sponges. And they do get attention. Soccer may be the favorite sport of Costa Ricans, but the national pastime is looking at women. Everyone in Costa Rica looks at women – men and women, the old and the young, even little children look at women. They are all judges in this 24-7 beauty pageant, evaluating the figures and the poise of these women, how well they dress, and how well they walk in their high heels. In part, these young, single women are engaging in an elaborate mating ritual, in which they compete for the attention and affection of young, single men. But the women are also competing for the hearts of other Costa Ricans as well. Every town, village and community in the country takes pride in its beautiful, young women. Costa Ricans are not an entrepreneurial people, and they do not measure their wealth by national income levels, exports, or production of key commodities. As long as there are beautiful women in the streets, they are satisfied that things are going well.

Of course, not everyone in Costa Rica buys into the culture of beauty and femininity. Many young women avoid heels and attractive clothing, and there are even families that prohibit their daughters from dressing or behaving in any way that attract attention. My family was not one of those. We were enthusiastic participants in a culture that worshipped beautiful women, their high heels, and their colas. And I am glad we were.

To be continued.

Ana was in the bathroom, combing her hair and applying her make-up, when Bob walked in. “Whoa,” he said. “That is pretty hot. Are you sure you want to wear that?”

Ana was wearing a red blouse, and a long, tight black skirt with a slit that ran practically to her waist. If she stood a certain way, the slit exposed the top of one of her stockings. Capping her outfit were a pair of 5-1/2-inch black stiletto pumps.

“I need to be very, very sexy tonight,” Ana said.

“Explain this to me again. Your co-worker, George, and his wife, Patricia, have invited us to dinner. Why?”

“I don’t know all the details,” Ana said. “Patricia told me they talked it out. George must have admitted he fantasized about me during their lovemaking, and Patricia must have admitted she had figured that out on her own and had let that little fact slip out when we had lunch. So now they want to ‘legitimize’ their friendship with me. Um, I mean with us.”

“Thank you. I am glad someone is thinking of me while your strange little love triangle develops,” Bob joked.

They drove over to George’s and Patricia’s house, and were greeted warmly at the door. The evening proceeded in a very normal fashion. As the two couples ate, Ana and George talked about working at the bank. George and Patricia talked about their two grown children. Ana and Bob talked about how they had met. After finishing dinner, they moved to the living room and sipped coffee while Ana shared some of her experiences about growing up in Costa Rica. It was only then that the evening’s conversation took an unusual, if not completely unexpected, turn.

“So tell me, Ana,” Patricia asked. “Do a lot of Costa Rican women share your taste in clothing and shoes?”

“In all honesty, Patricia, my style has evolved to the point where it is a bit extreme, even for Costa Rica. But, clearly, my tastes are derived from Costa Rican fashions. You might say I take Costa Rican sensibilities and combine then with the North American penchant for experimentation and risk taking.”

“And I am so glad you are willing to experiment and take risks!” Patricia said. “It is nice to see someone who is not afraid to step out there and be different.”

George cleared his throat. “I have something to say. Inviting you for dinner was Patricia’s idea. It has been a very pleasant evening until now, but I can no longer ignore the elephant in the room. The only reason the four of us are here tonight is because I had some very personal thoughts that were never intended to be shared with anyone. But they were shared. And I cannot just sit here, especially talking about women’s fashions, and pretend that it did not happen. Maybe I am old-fashioned, but I am very embarrassed about it all. And, furthermore, Ana, knowing what you know, I don’t quite understand why you would want to be my friend.”

“But I do want to be your friend, George,” Ana said reassuringly. She stood up so that the other three could clearly see her from her hair down to her stiletto heels.

“There are some things you should know about me,” Ana said. “I come from a culture that strongly embraces high heels and other bold forms of feminine expression. Women are encouraged to express their femininity in a very physical way. And men feel comfortable about openly admiring women. We are not taught to hide our feelings, as people often feel they must do here in the United States.”

She turned slightly so that the top of her stocking was visible through the slit in her dress. “I dress boldly because it is the way I express my true self. And I always appreciate it when others enjoy my form of expression.”

Bob said, “I will vouch for that. Ana believes in being honest with herself and with others. She is not shy in the way she dresses, and you don’t have to be shy in the way you react to her. If you like her style, you can tell her. Ana takes a special pride in brightening peoples’ days.”

“Look, I could be jealous of Ana,” Patricia said. “I could have made George feel guilty for finding her attractive. But what purpose would that have served? By embracing her presence in my husband’s life, we both became closer to each other, physically as well as emotionally. So I appreciate what Ana has done for us. The only thing that came close to ruining it was my big mouth.”

Ana walked over to George and said, “I know it is hard, George. Men, especially North American men, are taught to hide their feelings. In the workplace, you are warned that you are putting your career at risk if you tell a woman she is attractive. But around me, you can feel good about being a man. Compliment me or don’t compliment me as you see fit. If you are open with me, then I will be open with you, too.”

“OK, I will try,” George said. “Your attitudes are all a little foreign to me, but I think I will be able to embrace them. Ana, thank you. You are indeed a lovely woman.”

“If there is anything I can ever do for either of you, please let me know.”

“There is one thing,” Patricia said. “I can’t wear high heels any more, but Ana, I like your eye shadow and eye liner. I would love to go shopping with you so you can teach me more about the cosmetics that are available today. I would like to experiment with that.”

“How about next Saturday?” Ana asked. Patricia agreed.

Bob and Ana said goodbye a short time later and left for home. When they got in their car, Bob said, “Well, the hard part is over. Now you can relax. George and Patricia will incorporate you into their fantasies as they see fit. And there is nothing more that you need to do.”

Ana replied, “With all due respect, Bob, I do not think it will be that simple. I see George every day at work. Will I flirt with him more now? Will I start going out to lunch with him? And I have a funny feeling this upcoming shopping trip with Patricia will not be the last. What other highly personal things will she end up telling me? And lastly, we will have to invite them over to our house for dinner some time. What do you think I should wear as an encore after tonight? Do you really think we are going to have a normal friendship with these two?”

Bob thought for a few moments and said, “You are right. We have managed to establish yet another unusual relationship with another couple based on a mutual interest in high heels and bold feminine fashion. Except this time, you do not have to share the spotlight with anyone. You are the sole star of this show.”

Ana turned to Bob, smiled mischievously and said, “I know. Isn’t that great?”

Next: A prequel: Ana’s experiences in Costa Rica

Ana walked by George’s office early the following morning, before the bank opened. She was wearing a black sweater, snug black-denim pants, and her 5-inch black stiletto pumps, which clicked quite loudly in the corridor. She stopped and stood in the entrance to George’s office and said cheerfully, “Good morning, George. How was your conference? We missed you here!” She looked at George, and could tell he was a little surprised by her unusually friendly manner. George managed to stammer out that the conference was fine, and Ana said she would see him later and walked away. It was important not to start off too strong. The day proceeded normally until Ana’s mid-afternoon break. She walked back to George’s office, the clicking of her heels announcing her presence well before she actually arrived. “Hi, George!” she said. “Can I come in?” “Why sure, Ana. Make yourself at home,” George replied, gesturing for her to sit down in the chair in front of his desk. “What’s up?” Ana sat down in the chair, positioning it so that it was at a slight angle relative to George’s desk. This would allow a better view of her shapely profile. She crossed her legs, so that the heel on her right foot was dangling in the air, where George could readily see it. “George,” she said. “I have a big favor to ask of you.” She explained that Joe, one of the assistant managers at the bank, was having a birthday next week. Ana had volunteered to go buy a birthday card for him for all the bank staff to sign. “I need a man’s advice to ensure I get the right card for Joe. I was hoping you could come with me to the store, maybe tomorrow during lunch, to help me buy a card.” She talked for a minute or two about Joe’s sense of humor and how she, as a woman, might not be able to pick the right card that would really appeal to him. As she talked, she let her shoe hang from her toes, which she wiggled slowly to make the shoe rock back and forth slightly. “Why sure, Ana, that sounds fine. Let me know when you have lunch break tomorrow, and we can go,” George said calmly, but Ana could see that his eyes darted nervously a couple of times to her foot before returning to her eyes. Men are so helpless, she thought. “OK. Let’s be ready to go at 12:30 tomorrow. Thank you so much, George. You are a real sweetie.” Ana got up, turned around, and exited George’s office with her standard wiggle. She turned in the doorway, looked back at him, and said, “See you then.” Ana met George at their designated time the following afternoon for the five-block walk to the greeting-card store. Ana was wearing a navy-blue top, skintight blue corduroy pants, and matching 5-inch blue stiletto sandals. They talked about the bank as they walked over to the card store. Many men might have asked Ana whether she was comfortable making the walk in such high heels, but George was too shy to bring up the subject. They arrived at the store and began looking at cards. “You look here, and I’ll look over here,” Ana said, moving about six feet away from George. She looked through the cards, realizing that George had an excellent view of her high heel-enhanced profile. As she looked at the cards, she kept an eye on George through her peripheral vision. George was turned towards her, so that he could see her through his peripheral vision while he looked at the cards. Ana smiled to herself. “Oh, look, George. Here’s one. Let me read it to you.” Ana said. She then employed a flirting technique she had learned as a teenager in Costa Rica. She turned so that she was facing George at a slight angle. She positioned her right foot a little ahead of her left foot. This particularly sexy angle gave George an excellent view of her feet, legs, posterior and her figure as a whole, and she could still look him straight in the eye while appearing completely natural. Costa Rican women flirted this way all the time, but Ana had almost never seen it done in the United States. Ana read the card, giggled, and asked George what he thought. George liked the card and said it definitely was a candidate, but suggested they keep looking. Ana had used her peripheral vision to observe George as she read the card, and was certain he had given her a split-second elevator-eyes look. How can you not love men, she thought. They spent a good 30 minutes looking at cards. During the last 15 minutes, Ana changed her strategy entirely, choosing to stand right next to George as they looked at cards together. She was wearing one of her favorite perfumes, expecting it would make a favorable impression on George. They made a lot of eye contact as they read and reread the cards that they felt were the best candidates. They finally picked one, paid for it, and left the store. “I am not sure I have ever spent 30 minutes looking for a card, not even for my wife,” George said as they walked back. “That was a very pleasant lunch break, and I am sure ‘ol Joe will like the card. Thanks for asking me to come along, Ana.” It was one of the few times Ana had ever seen him smile. “George, you were very helpful. I could not have done this alone.” Ana added, “Would you mind if we slowed down a bit? I would be more comfortable walking in these high heels if we went a little slower.” “Of course,” George responded. “No need to get back to the bank so quickly any way.” He added, “I suppose you must look forward to weekends, when you wear shoes that are a little lower.” As far as Ana was concerned, she had hit the bulls-eye. She did not think she would be able to get George to say anything about her heels, even though she had set him up for just such a comment. The man must really be enjoying himself. “Actually,” Ana said, touching him on the arm, “on most weekends, I wear shoes that are even higher. I know all of you at the bank think I am crazy, but we Costa Rican women live in our high heels.” “And I am sure your husband appreciates that,” George said. Another bulls-eye! Ana turned to George and said playfully, “As a matter of fact, he does!” *** *** *** George got very little work done that afternoon. He felt like a teenager again, with every cell of his being filled with desire. Ana completely dominated his thoughts. Every detail of her was vivid – her lovely brown-red hair, the scent of her alluring purfume, her shapely hips, world-class ass, long legs, and those killer heels. But there was something else that filled George with both excitement and dread. Ana knows, he thought. She knows I have been looking at her. But how? I have been so subtle and so careful, it seems impossible that she could have noticed. Ana has never shown the remotest interest in me, so there is no reason for her to think I had been admiring her. Perhaps I had not been as careful as I had thought. However she did it, she knows I have been looking at her. That is the only explanation for sudden interest in me, he concluded. And anyway, he thought, look at the bright side: She knows, and she likes it, and she is being friendly with you. It could be a lot worse: She could have made efforts to avoid me, or, heaven forbid, filed a complaint against me. If she had to find out, this is the way it should turn out. He stopped at the supermarket on the way home and bought flowers and a card for Patricia. Part guilt, perhaps, but also an affirmation for himself that no matter how much he lusted after Ana, he knew Pat was his woman. By 9 p.m. that night, he could not stand it any longer, and he practically had to beg Patricia to get into bed. He was like an uncontrolled bull, with his head full of thoughts of Ana. He tried to bring Patricia into his fantasies, but his experience with Ana was only a few hours old, and there was no way that Patricia could compete with Ana in his imagination. So he just thought of Ana, her ass, the way she stood, her near-vertical feet in her heels, the blue nail polish on her toes that matched her heels, the smell of her perfume, the way she stood so close to him that he could reach out, seal her lips with his and stick his tongue down her throat. He was moving so forcefully that Patricia had to ask him to be more gentle. They both climaxed but, an hour later, as they thought they were going to bed for real, George wanted to do it again. Patricia could not remember the last time they had made love twice in the same night. As she lay in bed after the second lovemaking session, Patricia could only think of one thing: What had Ana done to him? She may have kept her promise of not telling George about that awful lunchtime conversation, but she was clearly acting on the information she had gained from it. Was she acting out of revenge to Patricia because of the way she had embarrassed her at lunch with her stories of George’s sexual interest in her? Or maybe she was a tease who got her kicks by whipping men into a frenzy? To make things worse, George went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of her favorite wine. Oh, God, wine was the last thing she wanted right now! But she sipped it anyway, not wanting to hurt George’s feelings. George talked about all the romantic places they could visit once he retired, how they could do so many things that they had never had the time to enjoy over the years. Oh, Patricia thought, what he must have been thinking about Ana to feel so guilty that he has to do this! She finished the first glass of wine and George poured her the second glass. She did not want it, but she simply could not say no. Despite her protestations, George poured her a third glass, pointing out that she was going to go to asleep anyway, so there was no problem with it. “So how was work today?” Patricia asked as she worked on her third glass. She began asking about long-time associates of George’s at the bank that she had known for years. They talked a bit about each of them, and then Patricia asked, “And how is Ana?” George gulped hard on his wine. “Ana?” “Yes, Ana. One of your bank tellers. You know, while you were at your conference, I was in the neighborhood of the bank and I needed some money, so I stopped inside. Ana was the teller who assisted me. I introduced myself to her, said I was your wife. She was very friendly. A real snazzy lady.” “I don’t really talk to her much. I don’t know her very well.” Patricia knew she should have stopped, but her husband’s understated response annoyed her. So she kept pushing. “She is a very nice lady. I actually had lunch with her the other day. I was interested in what she could tell me about Costa Rica, because we might want to go there someday. So I called her up and asked her to lunch.” “You did? That’s funny. Ana never mentioned it to me,” George said. “But it is even more curious that you never mentioned it to me. You usually tell me about things like that.” Somehow, I have done it again, Patricia thought. George is right; I would normally tell him something like that. If I could just say no to wine. “I guess I just forgot,” she said. George put the wine glass down. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together in a way he did not like. “OK, Patricia. Tell me what is going on. Why are you interested in Ana?” “I could ask the same of you, George,” Patricia said defensively. “I heard you say her name when we were making love that one time. You denied it, but I heard it. So I decided to find out who she was, and I went to the bank, and one thing led to another, and we had lunch. That is all. Is your story that simple?” “There is no story,” George said. “She is a teller at the bank. Yes, she is a very attractive woman, and she dresses sharply, as you undoubtedly observed. I can’t control the fact that the bank hired an attractive woman to work as a teller. You want to know something? She asked me today if I could help her select a birthday card for Joe. That is the most I have ever talked with her.” “And look at what it did to you. You go pick out a birthday card with this woman Ana, and you come home like Casanova possessed. How long has it been since we did it twice in one night?” “It is odd that Ana never showed the slightest degree of interest in me until today. And now it turns out that she starts becoming real friendly and flirtatious with me right after you have lunch with her.” George stopped. All of a sudden, the puzzle came together in his head. “Oh, my God, Patricia! You hear me mention this woman’s name once, you become curious, you have lunch with her, and suddenly she is friendly to me. What did you tell her, Patricia? Did you tell her I blurted out her name once when we were making love?” “Oh, George, do you think I would ever tell her something like that?” She stopped, and tears began to well up in her eyes. “What I told her was something far worse. Oh, George, it was an accident. I never wanted to say or do anything that would embarrass you! Please forgive me!” George filled his glass of wine and downed it in one gulp. “Just what did you tell her, Patricia?” To be continued.

My God, Gina, that is a photo for the ages. My computer is on fire.....

Patricia arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early the following day. When she was about to enter the front door, she happened to turn her head and she saw Ana walking toward the restaurant about a block away. Ana was wearing a light-green sweater, with tight-fitting cream-colored pants and matching 5-inch white stiletto sandals. Even from a distance, it was easy to see her hips swaying sensuously from side to side as she walked. Incredible, Patricia thought. This woman is more comfortable with her sexuality than anyone she had ever known. So expressive, total self-confidence, not a trace of inhibition. The best always make it look easy. Ana greeted Patricia warmly at the restaurant entrance, as if they had known each other for years. They went inside, sat down, and ordered lunch. Ana declined Patricia’s offer of wine, but Patricia ordered a glass of white wine for herself. Ana began talking about Costa Rica. The rain forest preserves were almost exclusively set aside for foreign tourists, and few Costa Ricans actually visited them, Ana said. Instead, Ana talked about the country’s capital city, San Jose, several surrounding cities, and the country’s Caribbean and Pacific coast beaches. Patricia continued to be impressed with Ana’s friendly charm, and her ability to paint a picture of her native country for someone who had never seen it. Their lunch was served, and Patricia ordered a second glass of wine. When it seemed that Ana had exhausted the subject of travel to Costa Rica, Patricia decided to change the subject of conversation. “I used to enjoy wearing stiletto heels when George and I were dating,” Patricia said. “But I could not ever imagine wearing heels as high as yours. And yet, you are on your feet all day, and you even walked here to meet me. I do not know how you do it.” Ana giggled in a girlish way. “That is another aspect of Costa Rica that you should explore when you visit. Costa Rican women are practically born wearing high heels. They are really a fundamental part of our culture. We learn to wear them at a young age. We develop the skills and conditioning to wear them properly.” “And you do have such a style, such an ambience about you,” Patricia said. “Men must really like you.” Ana giggled again, this time with a trace of embarrassment. “I get compliments from men, but also from women. Of course, I also get a lot of icy looks from women who don’t care for my style. That goes with the territory. I do not let that stop me from expressing myself the way I want.” Patricia took a sip of wine. She realized how reckless she had been to order not just one, but two glasses of wine. Wine loosened her lips, causing her to say things that, while honest, were better left unsaid. She knew this was not the occasion to lose control of her discretion. But Ana was such a delightful, welcome change from her conservative, middle-aged friends. The occasion seemed to call for wine. “You know, George is a big admirer of you,” Patricia said. Oh stop, Patricia! Pull back while you still can! “Really?” Ana said, somewhat surprised. “He is such a quiet man, very professional, very businesslike. He has never complimented me in any personal kind of way.” Patricia took another sip of wine. “That’s not his style. He does not come home and talk about you. He may have made a quick mention of you once. But after 35 years of marriage, I know George. You have made an impression on him. Don’t ask me how I know. But believe me, I know.” “The things you don’t know about your own co-workers,” Ana said. She added jokingly, “I hope you are not jealous.” Patricia sipped the last of her second glass of wine. “Jealous? Absolutely not! If anything, I would like to buy you lunch a dozen times over. After spending the day around you, George often comes home with so much passion that, lately, we have been more active than at any time since we were newlyweds. If you know what I mean.” Ana’s jaw dropped. She looked down at her empty plate, having finished the last of her lunch. “Oh my,” she said. “I want to assure you, Patricia, that I have never been anything less than purely professional around your husband.” Oh, God, Patricia thought. What the hell did I do? I had the best thing going with George in many years and now I have ruined it, all because I couldn’t keep myself away from the wine. Patricia reached out and touched Ana’s hand. “Ana, do not misunderstand me. I am not in any way angry or jealous, and I do not think you have done anything inappropriate with George. He finds you attractive, as any healthy man would, but he uses it to bring himself closer to me. I used to enjoy dressing up and being fashionable when I was young. But we all age. Now I have health issues, and my medication makes me put on weight like an elephant. George still loves me, but you give him that little spark that I no longer can. And it has made things good for us.” Patricia sat up straight and pushed herself away from the table. “I am a foolish, old woman who has had too much wine. I told you something that I should not have. Please forgive me. To be honest, I am not planning a trip to Costa Rica. I invited you to lunch because I wanted to get to know you a little better. Now that I have done that, I promise I will never need to see you again. I only ask one thing of you. Please do not tell George that we ever met. Do not tell him what I have told you. He is a very private, proud man, and if he ever finds out…” “It’s OK, Patricia,” Ana said. “I will not tell George anything. The last thing I want to do is create trouble for the two of you. Don’t feel badly about this.” Ana was studying herself in front of the mirror that evening when Bob arrived home from work. “If you spend any more time in front of that mirror, we will have to start calling you ‘Maria,’” Bob quipped. “Sorry,” Ana responded. “I had a weird experience at lunch today.” She proceeded to tell Bob the details of her lunch with Patricia. “So your co-worker fantasizes about you when he makes love to his wife. Nothing strange about that,” Bob said when Ana had finished her story. “But the wife then tells you about it. You are right – that is weird.” “The question in my mind is how I should behave around George. I have always been polite with him, but never really friendly. Maybe I should open up around him a little more. If a woman has an admirer, the least she can do is show some appreciation, right?” Bob playfully put his hands over his eyes and walked away. “I think you already know what you want to do, Ana.” Ana walked back in front of the mirror. In the last several years, she had successfully developed a dual Costa Rican-North American persona that had worked well for her. Costa Ricans valued uninhibited femininity and style – how a woman presented herself was paramount in her native land. North Americans valued productivity and the bottom line – if a woman made money for her employer, her style was of little relevance. Ana had tested the limits of the bank’s dress code with her Costa Rican-style tight clothing and sky-high stiletto heels, and she had emerged unscathed because she also developed a North American-style determination to serve the bank’s customers well and to learn its operations. Until now, however, there was another aspect of her Costa Rican heritage that had remained dormant during her years in the United States: the propensity of Costa Rican women to flirt. Workplace flirting in the U.S. was mild compared to the much spicier Costa Rican version. Flirting in many ways was the national pastime of the little Central American country; the come-hither looks and strong body language were almost expected of attractive women in Costa Rica, but they could quickly get a woman in trouble in the U.S. And, besides, Ana was now married, which made the idea of flirting even more dubious. Ana had thought that her flirting days were a thing of the past, but the revelation about George was giving her all kinds of ideas that had previously been unthinkable. There were ways to flirt that would be apparent only to George, remaining invisible to everyone else at the bank. And what is wrong with responding warmly to George’s attraction? How could a woman learning about George’s feelings not respond in some fashion? Maybe a cold-fish North American woman would want to put a damper on the whole thing, but not a warm, feminine Costa Rican woman. Ana took one last look at herself in the mirror and smiled mischievously. “You’re right, Bob,” she said, even though her husband had left the room. “I do know what I want to do.” To be continued.

On alternate Fridays, George spent the day at the bank’s downtown headquarters to attend meetings of loan officers from the various bank branches. That was the preferred time for Patricia to visit the bank branch in her search for Ana. While George worked at the Metro branch, they actually lived closer to the South branch, and therefore Patricia handled routine banking functions at the South branch. She normally did not have any reason to go to the Metro branch. The next time that George was downtown, Patricia paid a visit to the Metro branch. She entered the lobby, looked around, and did not see anything that interested her. The assistant manager was in the lobby at the time and noticed her. “Hello, Patricia! What brings you here? George is not here today. He is downtown for his loan officers meeting,” the assistant manager said. “Yes, he is,” Patricia said. “George absent-mindedly took some of our personal banking statements to work with him yesterday, and left them in his desk. I was coming down just to pick them up.” “You know where his office is. Let me get you back here,” the assistant manager said. She opened the security door to let Patricia back behind the tellers. “I hope you find what you are looking for.” Patricia politely said hello to several of the tellers and started down the corridor toward George’s office. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a woman walking down the corridor. She knew immediately that she had found Ana. The woman was indeed striking. Patricia surveyed the woman from head to foot: the brown-red hair, the pleasant figure, pants that seemed a little too tight for the workplace but that nevertheless flattered her waist, hips and legs. And then, on her feet: what kind of shoes was this woman wearing? Impossible stiletto heels that must have been five inches high! And yet this woman was walking gracefully and effortlessly down the hall. And are her hips really moving back and forth like that? In heels like that, how could they not be? Sensuality seemed to flow from her with every step. Damn it, George, Patricia thought. You have good taste in women. I’ll give you credit for that. “Is there anything I can help you with, ma’am?” Ana asked Patricia. “My name is Patricia. I am George’s wife. I know he is downtown today, but I needed to pick something up from his office.” “Pleased to meet you, Patricia. My name is Ana. I am one of the tellers here. You are catching me right at the end of my break. I’ll be happy to walk you to your husband’s office.” Patricia knew where George’s office was, but she was glad Ana volunteered to accompany her. Now she could observe Ana up close. She liked the fact that Ana made immediate eye contact with her and offered to help her. They walked down to George’s office, and Patricia could hear the click-click-click of Ana’s stilettos reverberate off the walls of the corridor. She could also tell from Ana’s accent that she was foreign born, probably Latina. Yes, she was quite a package. “Here is your husband’s office,” Ana said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” “Thank you, Ana, I am fine. But I do have one question. You have a lovely accent. Where are you from?” “I was born and raised in Costa Rica.” “Ah, very interesting! I was sure you were Latina, but your accent is very different from a Mexican accent.” “Oh, yes, it is quite different. It was a pleasure meeting you, Patricia.” Patricia no longer had any doubt that Ana was responsible for George’s sexual renaissance. There was no question in her mind as to whether George still loved her, but the sad truth, she concluded, was that she no longer had the ability to stimulate him on her own. She was 5 feet, 2 inches tall, and weighed 190 pounds. She walked slowly and with considerable difficulty even in orthopedic shoes, and the available clothing for women of her age and size was not particularly appealing. How could she possibly compete with Ana? Patricia fondly recalled how she was when she was dating George in the early 1960s. She was young then, with pretty brown hair and a pleasant figure, and she often wore stilettos on her dates with George. Back then, she could have fought off Ana easily. But she could hardly blame her husband now for looking at another woman. Some women might have become angry over their situation, while others might have become consumed by jealousy, or perhaps even slipped into a bitter depression. But Patricia had a different way of thinking. Two or three times a week, she lay under her husband and felt his passion. They would snuggle together afterwards like a couple of newlyweds. Before Ana, they had often gone a month or more without becoming physically amorous. What could be so bad about an older couple making love as often as they had in their 20s? Patricia began to think of Ana as a positive force in their marriage. While engaging in intimacies, she sometimes fantasized about how George would react if he came home and saw his wife putting dinner on the table while wearing a pair of 5-inch stiletto heels. As the weeks went by, she became more and more curious about Ana. Was she intelligent? Did she have a sense of humor? Was there a reason for George to be enamored of the entire woman, or only her physical qualities? Her one brief meeting with Ana no longer seemed adequate, particularly since George worked with her every day. She decided that she needed to know Ana at least a little bit better. Patricia’s opportunity came several weeks later, when George went out of town for a two-day loan officers’ conference. Patricia called the bank and left a message for Ana, who returned the call a short time later. “I don’t know if you remember me. I am George’s wife,” Patricia said. “Of course I remember you. We met some time ago when you stopped by the bank to pick something up for your husband.” “Ana, I have a big favor to ask of you. I am planning a big surprise for George. I would like to arrange for a trip to a foreign country, and one of the countries I have in mind is Costa Rica. Those rain forests seem spectacular in the tourist brochures. But I was hoping I could sit down and talk with you so I could really learn more about the country. I would be happy to take you out to lunch.” “Oh, Patricia, that is so nice of you. I never really traveled to the rain forests, but there is a lot I could tell you about Costa Rica that you will never find in travel books. When would you like to meet?” “How about tomorrow?” “That would be fine.” They agreed to meet at a restaurant close to the bank. “And remember, Ana, this is supposed to be a surprise for George. Please don’t mention anything about this to him,” Patricia said. “Of course, Patricia. Your secret is safe with me.” To be continued.

Ana’s Admirer

This story was written in the third person by Steve, based on interviews with the principal participants.

George was the senior loan officer at the Metro bank branch. When he was younger, he enjoyed the challenges of setting up loans that helped his clients buy homes and cars, and start businesses. But George was now 60 years old, and he viewed his job as something that he had to do for a few more years until he could retire. In other words, George was coasting.

There was only one reason why George looked forward to going to work. He got to spend much of his work day in close proximity to Ana, the bank’s most attractive and outgoing teller. Curiously, she had been shy and somewhat lacking in self-confidence when she had been hired at the bank four years earlier. Even then, George felt she was pretty in an earthy sort of way, a quiet, plain-dressing Latina who always seemed to be holding something back. After she had been at the bank for about a year, it became clear that she had, indeed, been holding something back. Neither George nor anyone else had taken much notice when blocky business heels replaced the flat shoes that Ana had been wearing. But the business heels were soon replaced by eye-catching stilettos, as well as form-fitting pants and dresses that challenged the bank’s dress code. As the heels got higher and the clothing got tighter, Ana’s personality became looser: the quiet teller became vivacious and outgoing, and her self-confidence increased rapidly. It was understood that several female employees had complained to the bank’s management about Ana’s provocative attire. But management never did anything. According to rumor, management thought that Ana was at least partly responsible for the increase in the bank branch’s customer traffic that began about the time she unveiled her new image. If Ana could take credit for some of that increase, then in George’s opinion it was due to her friendly, upbeat personality, which really could make even the most ordinary customer feel special. Most bank patrons could not even notice Ana’s heels and tight clothing from the other side of the counter. What was important to George was that he could.

George spent much of his day in an office located behind the teller area. He normally kept his door half open, which gave him a good view of the tellers. On most days, he could see Ana’s backside as she dealt with the customers. She was, indeed, a sight that could get any man’s blood circulating: her brown-red hair grazing her shoulders, her trim figure, her perfectly shaped rear end wrapped so lovingly and unashamedly in an ever-changing assortment of pants, skirts and dresses, and those impossibly high stiletto pumps, sandals and mules. How could she possibly wear such heels while standing on her feet for nearly eight hours a day, day in and day out? It seemed superhuman at times.

As a happily married man and the father of grown children, George was not in love with Ana and had no desire to have anything beyond a normal professional relationship with her. However, in an aesthetic sense, he loved everything about her. Her charm, her flirtacious nature, the sexy clothing and shoes – she obviously enjoyed defying the norms of the business world by doing things her way. To George, the most radical, subversive and enjoyable of Ana’s attributes was the way she walked. Her posterior moved with a musically precise rhythm that was a delight to behold. In all his years, George had never seen a woman move quite like that. It was not risque or crude, but it was not exactly subtle either, just warm and sensuous. The movements were just exaggerated enough that George was convinced that Ana must have taught herself – or been taught by someone – to walk like that at an earlier stage of her life. But she had been wiggling like that for so long that it was apparently now an ingrained habit, and done without conscious thought.

George told no one about his feelings. They were too personal, and, of course, he had no desire to put his hard-earned professional reputation at risk by discussing Ana’s feminine attributes and bodily movements with his co-workers. At the same time, he felt he owed no apology to himself or anyone else over the private delight he derived from observing this very unusual bank teller. At his age, you took pleasure any time you could, and who could be crazy enough to ignore the charms of a woman like Ana? And, anyway, Ana’s charm defied words, so nothing could be gained by talking about her.

While Ana appealed to George’s imagination, there was little question that Patricia, his wife of 35 years, was his partner for life. She greeted him when he got home, made him dinner, talked with him, laughed with him when he was happy, and supported him when he felt down. He did the same for her, and made sure she had everything he could give her. They both felt pride over the two productive, well-adjusted grown children that they had brought into the world and raised. Patricia was everything to George…or, at least, almost everything.

Unfortunately, the years had not been kind to Patricia. The feminine figure that had appealed to George when he was young had been gone for decades. A chronic health condition now forced her to walk with some difficulty, and the medication she took tended to make her gain weight. When George went to bed at night, it was with Patricia, but he took the liberty of borrowing some of the sexy mental images of Ana that he had taken home with him from the bank. He imagined what life would be like if Patricia could somehow have Ana’s piercing Latin eyes, her legs, her ass, her ability to walk in those mind-blowing heels. He would snuggle up next to Patricia, and he could picture her as a slim young woman in those snug pants and those heels. He imagined Ana teaching Patricia how to wiggle her butt until she had it down like an expert. Oftentimes, this would make him quite amorous, which pleased Patricia to no end.

“I thought men were supposed to slow down at your age, but you have been speeding up the last several years. Am I feeding you something I am not aware of?” Patricia would ask.

And they would make love. Patricia’s condition limited the positions that they could take, but that mattered little to George. He was making love to Patricia’s soul, housed temporarily in a fantasy body borrowed from Ana. Sometimes, George could sense Ana herself in the room, her spirit over the bed, complimenting Patricia on her sexuality and exhorting him to keep going. And George could hear himself saying, “Oh, thank you, Ana, thank you, Ana.”

One night, unfortunately, George actually said it. He was so engrossed in his own pleasure that he did not hear it. But Patricia did.

“George,” Patricia said as he rested his head on her chest after they had finished. “Who is Ana?”

“Ana? I don’t know. Who is Ana?” George asked.

“That’s what I am asking you. When we were reaching our peak, you said, ‘Thank you, Ana.’ You said it several times. Who is Ana, and why were you thanking her?”

“You must have heard wrong, dear. I believe I said, ‘Thank you, damn.’ Those are the kinds of things men say when they are about to climax.”

“George, I have been married to you for 35 years, and never once have I heard say ‘Thank you, damn,’ when we make love.”

“Oh, Pat, I say it occasionally. Maybe you haven’t been listening all these years. Good night.” He rolled away from her and went to sleep.

Patricia could not go to sleep. She was not mad or jealous. She was not even upset. She knew her husband would not do anything improper as far as their marriage was concerned. But she was curious. She deduced – correctly – that Ana must be a woman who made some kind of a powerful impression on her husband. Perhaps Ana had something to do with George’s heightened interest in sex in the last several years. The only contact that George could have with women unknown to her would be through his job at the bank. While George slept, Patricia decided that she needed to make a trip to the bank to see if she could find Ana.

To be continued.

After breakfast, we went back to our rooms and packed up. The ladies went back to the lobby to rest their feet while we three men checked out of the hotel and put our luggage into Bob’s and Ana’s minivan. We asked the women if they wanted to change their shoes, but they all insisted they were OK. So we all piled into the minivan for the next stage of our trip, which was a scenic drive around Lake Tahoe.

I directed Bob to a state park about 10 miles north of the casino. We pulled into a parking lot right along the lakeshore. I had specifically picked this park because I knew there was a paved walkway leading from the parking lot along the lakeshore. The women would need the paved walkway if they wanted to stay in their 6-inch heels, which of course they did.

We all got out of the car and started walking. I was so glad to get out of the crowded casino and into the open air. It was a beautiful, warm mountain day, with a deep blue sky that was vividly reflected in the famous clear blue waters of Lake Tahoe. The green forests and the silvery mountains that surrounded the big lake on all sides added to grandeur of the scenery. And then, of course, there were our three ladies. I could now admire the three of them without having to think about who might be watching us. The three of them were, in my opinion, absolute perfection in their 6-inch stilettos: Their bodies were distorted in the most exquisitely erotic way, with the heels of their feet virtually up in that deep blue sky, their legs so lovingly long, their asses protruding out so far that they seemed to be asking the entire world to make love to them. The shrinks could psychoanalyze me any way they want, but I would not trade the pleasure I was experiencing at that moment for anything in the world!

We walked for maybe 150 meters until we came to a beautiful overview of the lake. We stopped to look and, without thinking about what I was doing, I grabbed Maria’s posterior, pulled her against me, and began kissing her passionately. Our tongues became so intertwined that I thought they might be tied together. “I am so happy right now,” I managed to say during a split-second break in our kiss. “I feel so liberated,” Maria replied. That might sound strange coming from a woman in 6-inch stilettos and pants so tight that they restricted her movement, but I knew exactly what she meant. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Ana and Bob, and Sharon and Jack, were also tightly embraced. I put my tongue back in Maria’s mouth, and we continued.

The spell we were all under broke prematurely when we heard a loud scream. I looked up and saw a young boy, not much more than three or four years old, on the path. His face was red, and tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“I want my mommy!” the boy screamed.

Sharon walked up to the boy and said, “Oh, dear, are you lost little boy?”

The boy nodded yes. I said the boy must have walked out from the parking lot, and that his parents were almost certainly there looking for him. We would be able to find his parents easily, I said.

“Maybe so,” Sharon replied. But she pointed to one of the boy’s knees, which was cut and bleeding. She was now in full nurse mode. “The poor little dear must have fallen. Jack, do you have anti-septic and a band-aid with you?”

To my surprise, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out an individually wrapped sanitary wipe and a small band-aid, which he gave to Sharon. “Once a doctor, always a doctor,” he said to me.

“We’re going to fix that knee up and make it as good as new,” Sharon said, as she wiped the blood off the child’s knee and put on the band-aid. The boy stopped crying and became calm. “My name is Sharon, by the way. And what is yours?”

“Jeffrey.”

“OK, Jeffrey. Now we are going to find your parents. It should only be a few minutes.”

We started walking back to the parking lot, with Sharon holding the boy’s hand as she wiggled along in her extreme heels. The boy asked her, “Sharon, why are you wearing such funny shoes?”

“Why am I wearing such funny shoes? Hmm….. Well, Jeffrey, I guess because it is fun.”

We arrived back at the parking lot. A moderately heavyset woman saw us, yelled, “Jeffrey!” and began running to us. An equally heavyset man ran over, too.

“Oh, you found Jeffrey! Thank you ever so much!” the woman said first to Sharon, and then to the rest of us.

“When he got near to us, we found his knee was bleeding, so I cleaned his knee with a sanitary wipe and put on a band-aid. I hope that was OK. I am a registered nurse,” Sharon said.

“Oh, that’s fine, thank you,” the woman said. Her husband thanked us, and walked Jeffrey back to their car across the parking lot. The woman asked Sharon, “Where do you work as a nurse?”

“General Hospital.”

“Gosh, it’s a small world. I used to be an administrator at General. I probably left before you started. My name is Mindy.”

We each introduced ourselves, and Sharon and Mindy began talking about the hospital. Mindy said she got burned out on hospital work and left to manage a senior citizens center.

Changing the subject suddenly, Mindy said to Sharon, “I see you and your friends have a taste for exotic shoes. I used to wear heels a number of years ago, when I was 30 pounds lighter. But I never wore anything quite like yours.”

“It is a hobby of ours,” Sharon said politely.

“That is good. It shows you are a free thinker. Heaven knows, we need more of those in hospitals and senior centers nowadays. Everyone is so defensive, they don’t want to deviate from the book one bit for fear of being sued or accused of running up costs. Anyway, let me give you my business card. If you ever decide to get out of the hospital racket, let me know.”

Mindy said good-bye and added, “I will leave you with your friends. I think you have better things to do than to be a nurse for a lost three-year-old.”

Sharon put her arms around Jack and said with a suggestive wink to Mindy, “Oh, this is still nursing. Just with a different kind of uniform.”

We returned to the mini-van and drove along the lake in the general direction of home. Sharon and Jack were in the rear seat of the mini-van, and resumed the passions that Jeffrey had interrupted. Bob looked at them in the rear-view mirror, and pulled over to the side of the road.

“It is too early to leave for home,” Bob said. “Steve, you know this area better than any of us. You should drive and find us a quiet, secluded spot somewhere.”

“Sounds fine,” I said. I got into the driver’s seat, thinking Maria would also move up to the front passenger seat. But she remained in her place in the middle seat, while Ana stayed in the front passenger seat. Bob sat down next to Maria. I started the mini-van, drove down the highway a bit, and then turned off onto a side road that went up into the mountains. The road was narrow and windy, and I had to take it slowly as we gradually made our way up the mountain.

“I hope you know where you’re going,” Ana said. She crossed her legs, causing the stiletto on her right foot to point right at me. Pointing to her shoe, she said, “Because if you do get lost, I am not walking out in these.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. We got up to the top of the ridge, and pulled off to the side of the road. We had a great view of the lake below us and the surrounding mountain tops.

“Ooh, what is this place?” Ana asked.

I leaned toward her and said, “In English, this is called a great place to make out.”

Pointing to Sharon and Jack in the back seat, Ana asked, “And what in English do you call that?”

Sharon and Jack were in a position I had never seen before. I said, “If there is a term for that in English, I don’t know what it is.”

“Would you like to try that?” Ana asked me suggestively.

A six-inch stiletto heel, and the brown foot wearing it, came down hard on the console between Ana and me. “OK, I think the flirting has gone far enough,” Maria said. She was one to talk, as Jack was resting his head on her shoulder. “Why don’t the two of you come back here? There is room for the four of us,” Maria said.

Ana and I joined Maria and Bob on the middle seat. For the record, I sat next to Maria, and Ana sat next to Bob. We closed the doors of the mini-van as we got in. And the doors stayed closed for a good long time.

Next: Ana’s Admirer

Hi, RPM. I am glad you stopped by, and thanks for the supportive comment. I do appreciate it. Now, where were we....... *** I turned around to see a man and a woman approach Ana. She immediately recognized the man and said, “Oh, Mr. Young. What a delightful surprise to see you here!” She introduced us to Mr. Young and his wife. “Mr. Young is the vice president of the bank where I work,” Ana said. “He works in the downtown headquarters, but he has been over to the branch where I work a number of times.” “That’s true,” Mr. Young said. He turned to his wife and said, “Ana works at the metro branch, and is one of the most popular tellers in our entire bank network.” “I’ll bet she is,” Mrs. Young said somewhat disdainfully as she not so subtly surveyed Ana from head to toe. Mr. Young explained that most of the bank’s top executives and their spouses were at the casino resort for a management retreat. He pointed out the other executives sitting down to breakfast on the other side of the restaurant, and invited Ana and Bob over to meet them. As she wiggled off to meet the bankers, Ana turned and cast an angry glare at Sharon. “Oh, my, this is all my fault,” Sharon said glumly. “I pushed you two to wear your six-inchers assuming we would all be completely anonymous. I hope Ana will be all right with those bank executives.” Maria put her arm around Sharon and said affectionately, “Sharon, remember, this is Ana we are talking about. The woman is as tough as nails. She will be fine. Now let’s get something to eat.” The four of us picked up our trays and began getting our breakfast. A Latino man who was also getting his breakfast saw us and walked over to Maria. I recognized him as one of the men who had been with Luis Rojo the previous night when he was talking to us. “Good morning, Maria,” the man said. “I see you put as much effort into looking fashionable for breakfast as you do for your Saturday night outings.” When Maria hesitated before saying anything, the man said, “Forgive me. We may not have been properly introduced last night. My name is Ramon Moreno. I am Luis Rojo’s agent.” “Of course,” Maria said. We all introduced ourselves to him. Maria invited Ramon over to our table, and he seemed happy to accept. “I assume, Maria, that you have not reconsidered our offer to join Luis’ band,” Ramon said somewhat light-heartedly as we began to eat. “With what my husband is spending to send me to college, I think he would be beside himself if I were to quit school to begin touring with your band,” Maria said. I replied, “That depends on what they would pay you, Maria.” Ramon reached into his briefcase, took out a pad of yellow paper, and scrawled a very impressive number on it. “Would this be acceptable? This is what I would suggest to Luis if you were interested.” Maria and I both gulped. “You can’t be serious,” Maria said. “You would pay me that much just to stand up on a stage and look pretty?” “Style, grace and femininity count for a lot in our business. Think about it,” Ramon said. Maria replied, “Steve and I talked about this last night. We value bold expressions of femininity, even when, like today, it may be a bit strong for most people’s tastes. But we also value intellect. I want to leave my mark on the world with both my intelligence and my femininity. Just making it with one is not good enough.” “I like your philosophy,” Ramon said. “You said last night you are a business student? Where are you studying?” “State University,” Maria said. “I thought as much. I graduated from State with a degree in business 10 years ago.” “Really!” Maria said. They spent most of the rest of breakfast discussing school topics. Ramon had earlier had many of the same professors who were teaching Maria’s classes. While they talked, I looked over across the restaurant and noticed Bob and Ana were having breakfast with the bankers. They seemed to be OK. When I refocused on Maria’s conversation, I heard Ramon say, “If you want to combine business acumen with your physical presence, I have two suggestions. You can become an agent like me. When people see you, Maria, they will know you understand style and flair, and they will be willing to give your clients serious consideration. The other alternative is to go into the clothing or shoe business. People need to know what they sell, and believe me, Maria, you know clothes and shoes.” “I was thinking more of accounting,” Maria said. Ramon almost gagged. “Accounting? That would be a waste of your talent, no matter how good an accountant you are. Think clothes, think shoes. Who could possibly look at you, Maria, and think you know nothing about clothes and shoes?” He took out a business card and handed it to her. “I would love to talk more, but I have to catch a plane. Maria, I know people in both the entertainment and clothing industries. When you graduate and you need a little help, call me. I will remember you.” He said goodbye to us and left. “Ramon gave us a lot to think about,” I started to tell Maria. “Maybe…” I never finished my sentence because Ana and Bob returned. “Did everything go all right?” Sharon asked, with a trace of guilt in her voice. “It went just fine,” Ana said, as Bob and she sat down with us. “I spent half the time telling the bigwigs about the award I won last year when I suggested ways the bank could save money by making the teller operations more efficient. They were all impressed.” Bob added, “After Ana finishes telling them about her award, the bank president’s wife asked her how she can wear such incredibly high heels. So Ana goes into the whole story about how she learned to walk in high heels as a teenager in Costa Rica. She had them all listening intently.” Ana added, “After I finished my story, the bank president mentioned my award again, and he asked me to send them my resume so they can keep it on file in the headquarters office. He said they could use more people in headquarters who have worked in the branches and know how they really operate.” “The real question,” Bob said, “is whether they asked for her resume because of her award, or her heels?” “Hopefully both,” Ana said with a laugh. To be continued

We woke up late Sunday morning, still feeling a little blitzed over the events of the previous night. We knew Sharon and Jack were up in the room next to ours, as we could hear the shower going. Maria and I showered and got dressed. Maria put on a red tank stop, a pair of tight blue jeans, and four-inch wedge heels. It was pretty conservative attire by her standards, but the women had previously agreed that Sunday would be an informal day. Our plans were to drive around the lake and enjoy the outdoors, a pastime not really amenable to wearing heels. We walked over, found Jack’s and Sharon’s door was ajar, and we knocked and went inside. Sharon, Jack, Ana and Bob were inside, and they broke into applause as we entered. “Here is the new Latin performing sensation, the one who really wowed them last night,” Jack said. “Now hold on,” Maria objected. “What about Sharon’s magnificent exhibition of craps playing, and Ana seducing that poor vendor into selling us his tickets? There were a lot of memorable performances last night.” We all heartily agreed. Sharon was looking at Maria and Ana, and was thinking about something. I was starting to learn that nobody in the room could consider themselves safe when Sharon was thinking. She was wearing a yellow spaghetti-string top, tight white jeans, and four-inch wedge heels very similar to Maria’s. Ana was wearing a white tank top, skintight black jeans, and a pair of three-inch block heels that did not do her justice. “Yes, we all accomplished something special last night,” Sharon said. “I used to think that a wonderful accident of fate brought us all together, but now I am not so sure. I think destiny brought the six of us together from all over the world. We were meant to be a group of six. We were meant to do big things.” I could hear echoes of Sharon’s past, when she went through a stage where she was heavily into new-age philosophy. “And your point is?” Bob asked. “My point,” Sharon replied, “is that maybe we should not rest on our laurels. We have a lot of momentum going from last night, and maybe we ought to go with it. We should push ourselves today, and see what else destiny has in store for us.” “What exactly are you trying to say, Sharon?” I asked. “I am trying to say this,” she said. She walked over to the closet, opened her shoe bag, took out her pair of black, 6-inch stiletto heels, and carried them back to where we were sitting. “I say we wear our six-inch heels today. Let’s just go for it all.” A hushed silence fell over the six of us. All three women had indeed brought their 6-inch heels with them on this trip. They were intended as a backup, as something the ladies could wear in the privacy of our hotel rooms in case our Saturday night in the casino turned out to be a bore. Of course, they had not needed them. Ana asked hesitatingly, “So, Sharon, are you suggesting we wear six-inch heels to breakfast? On a Sunday morning? What about after breakfast?” “We wear them to breakfast. If we want to keep wearing them afterwards, then fine. If not, then we change. But we should do this. We need to do this.” She slipped off her wedge heels and, first with her right foot and then with her left, eased herself into her six-inch stilettos. Her whole body appeared to eroticize itself before our eyes – her legs grew long, her curves grew ever shapelier, and her erect posture became quite arousing. “What do you think?” she asked us. “I think you are right, Sharon,” Maria said. “One of my favorite English-language expressions is, ‘Work hard, play hard.’ We all work hard during the week. What is the point in coming up here on our big weekend if we don’t wear heels?” Ana replied, “The only time we have worn 6-inch heels in public was when we were wearing long dresses and eating in a very exclusive restaurant. Today, we are all wearing form-fitting pants and we are at a casino that opens its doors to anyone. Do you understand what I am saying?” “Ana, I would not suggest this if we were at home,” Sharon said. “But nobody knows us here. What is the big deal?” “OK, you sold me,” Ana said. Maria and Ana went back to their rooms and came back holding their 6-inch heels. They eased into them, with the same delightful effect we had seen with Sharon a few minutes earlier. The sight of these women in their extreme heels was almost overwhelming. “I am hungry,” Sharon said. “Everyone ready for breakfast?” As we left the hotel room and watched our ladies wiggle down the hallway to the elevator, Jack turned to Bob and me and said, “Gentlemen, we live in interesting times. Thank God.” We rode the elevator down to the main casino and walked over to the restaurant area. I noticed two things almost immediately. First, I was impressed with how well all three of our ladies walked in 6-inch heels. The only time they had worn such extreme heels in public was several months earlier at a private country club restaurant. They all walked somewhat tentatively at that time. I knew that Maria had been wearing her 6-inchers around the house since that time and had gotten very proficient. It was obvious that Sharon and Ana had both been practicing in their heels as well. All three women walked fluidly and confidently, without any bent knees or momentary imbalances. They used the exaggerated movement of their hips and buttocks to propel themselves forward, making them quite a sight to see. And that, of course, relates to my second observation. Wearing 5-1/2-inch heels with nice dresses in the casino on a Saturday night draws a very different reaction than wearing 6-inch heels and skintight pants in the same casino on a Sunday morning. The admiring glances that our ladies received from the casino’s patrons on Saturday night were replaced by looks of surprise, and even shock, from the patrons we walked past on Sunday morning. I was not the one wearing the heels, but the looks nevertheless made me feel a little uncomfortable, and caused me to ask myself exactly what it was the six of us were trying to say. The only thing that seemed to mitigate the reaction was Nevada’s anything-goes attitude. This was best epitomized by the middle-aged man at a slot machine who stared at us as we walked by, and then turned to his wife and said, “See, dear, we didn’t need to go to Las Vegas after all.” We entered one of the restaurants, which was offering a breakfast buffet. We picked a table, and went over to the food counters to look at the offerings. We had only been there a minute when we heard a man say, “Ana, is that you?” To be continued

After the show ended, a couple of ushers accompanied us backstage. Things were pretty much the way I had imagined them, basically a whir of activity with band members, stage hands, roadies, and others busily taking care of whatever business was at hand. A number of people stopped whatever they were doing for a few seconds to get a look at Maria, Ana and Sharon, and several people walked up to Maria and complimented her for her improvised performance with Rojo. We finally saw Rojo himself, sitting at a table and sipping at a drink while talking with several people. When he saw us, he got up, walked over to us and graciously thanked us for coming back. Each of the six of us introduced ourselves, and he invited us back to his table. Several stagehands got chairs for all of us. “I want to tell you,” he said, “I have performed that serenade on stage at least one thousand times over the past 15 years. The performance of it tonight was easily one of the top five out of all those times. Maria, you added a dimension to that song. You took it to a place I cannot quite reach on my own, even with all my experience.” “Oh, Mr. Rojo, that’s really very kind of you,” Maria said, with more than a touch of embarrassment.” I asked, “Mr. Rojo, do you always pick someone from the audience when you perform that song?” “Please, call me Luis,” he said. “Only occasionally do I pick someone from the audience. Usually, I use one of my female backing vocalists for the serenade. But I always look at the women in the first two rows. If I think someone has the right stage presence…In other words, if I think someone is sufficiently beautiful and well dressed, and seems to have the charisma to pull it off, I will invite them up as I did with Maria. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not. But rarely does it work as well as it did tonight.” One of Rojo’s helpers came by and served us rum with Coca-Cola, which apparently was the singer’s favorite drink. Roho said, “I don’t know what your personal situation is. However, Maria, if you were interested in an adventure, I would be willing to offer you a job with my band as a backing vocalist. You would perform the serenade with me at every show.” “Oh, but Mr. Rojo, I can’t sing. And I really can’t even dance,” Maria said sheepishly. “You would not have to sing. We could keep your microphone off. You would still make a great visual addition to the band. You could travel all through the United States and Latin America with the band, performing that serenade with us. And I have a European tour lined up next year.” “Mr. Rojo, I mean Luis, I am so flattered,” Maria replied. “I am currently in college. I couldn’t just take off with your band. Plus, I am not sure my husband would approve of it, either.” “A college student, huh? What are you studying?” “Business. I am a senior, so I am close to graduation.” “A business student. So you have a good brain to go with your lovely exterior. That is great. What are your plans after graduation?” “Get a job.” “If you wanted to get a job in the entertainment industry, perhaps as an agent, you could go a long way. Presentation and style is everything in this business, and you demonstrate that you already understand that.” “Thank you, sir,” Maria replied. “I am very serious about that. Look, Maria, you have a gift. A gift of beauty, style and sensuality. Do not waste it. If you have aspirations in business, that is a wonderful thing, but do not overlook the power of your femininity. Do not be afraid to harness that power, and use it as you used it tonight on stage with me. This world needs all the style and beauty that you can give it. And ladies,” he said, turning to Ana and Sharon, “my sincerest apologies for not including you in my compliments. You have the gift, too, and either of you would have been wonderful on stage tonight as well. And you are with good men who are secure enough to let you express yourself in a way that few women can. This is so good. I wish I could offer all of you jobs with my band.” One of Rojo’s assistants motioned to him. Rojo looked at his watch. “I am so sorry, but I have to be going. But I am so glad I was able to meet all of you.” Fortunately, Jack had brought a small camera in his jacket pocket. One of Rojo’s assistants took a photo of Rojo with the six of us, and Jack took photos of Rojo with each of us. Rojo also autographed some publicity photos for us. They all occupy a special place in our photo albums to this day. After Rojo left, the six of us went to one of the casino bars and talked for the next couple of hours while sipping drinks. Then we went back to our respective hotel rooms, still uncertain if we would be able to sleep. I unzipped Maria’s dress and asked her, “So, do you still want to blend in with everybody else?” “Oh, Steve, I was just saying that because I was feeling down. School gets to me sometimes.” Maria carefully hung up her dress, and then took off her bra and unhooked her panties. She turned to me, wearing only her garter belt, seamed stockings and stiletto heels. Meanwhile, I had removed all my clothes. “That Luis Rojo certainly has a way with words,” Maria said. “Do you honestly think I have a gift?” “That is a good term for it. You also had an upbringing that taught you how to use your gift. Plus, you have your intellect. All in all, you have a lot going for you. Rojo got it right.” I walked up to her, caressed her shoulders, kissed her lightly on the lips and then bent down and kissed her breasts. “Then why can’t I connect with the people at school? Why do some of the smartest people I know treat me like an airhead simply because I wear high heels to class?” “People with gifts are never totally appreciated. Many are not appreciated at all in their lifetimes. Brilliant artists and writers are criticized all the time, often unfairly. Some of our greatest scientists were put down as crackpots in their time. So why should you be any different? The fact is, people in academia are just as biased as everyone else. Most of them think that all smart people should act and dress like they do. They can’t deal with the fact that you are different. You figured out how to deal with people like that long before I met you. You continue to be who you are, you wear those heels proudly and defiantly to class, and you force them to accept you when you do as well as they do in your studies.” “You know I love you,” she said, and we locked our lips in a long, wet kiss. When we finished, Maria asked, “Should I take off my stockings and heels, or should I keep them on?” “Keep them on, of course.” “Ooh, I was hoping you would say that.” We got into bed. Our lovemaking over the next couple of hours was the most intense we had experienced in a number of months. To be continued

Hi, Tom. I am glad you are still interested in this series. Here is the next installment: “For now, follow me. And observe,” Sharon said. We walked to an area of the casinos where a number of craps tables were located. Sharon asked Jack for $50 in cash. We then walked past each of the craps tables, looking for one that might be short of players. But it was Saturday night, and each table had more players than it could handle. That was not about to stop Sharon. As the rest of us stood in the background, Sharon picked one of the tables and began walking around it, observing the action. The yellow mini-dress and stiletto heels drew the attention of each of the craps players, who followed the dice with one eye and Sharon with the other. After each roll of the dice, Sharon cooed something like, “Oh, good for you! That was wonderful!” in a dumb-blonde voice that was hard for the players to ignore. She then found a place by the table and leaned forward ever so slightly, making her dangerously short dress appear even shorter and flashing a lot of leg and those marvelous stilettos at the players. Over the next 10 minutes or so, she struck up some brief conversations with some of the others around the table, saying things like, “Oh, this game looks like so much fun.” When it was time for a new game to begin, one of the men who had been waiting to play offered Sharon the chance to play the next game. “Oh, I couldn’t do that! I know you’ve been waiting!” she said. But the man insisted she play, and Sharon agreed. She walked over to the dice, put down her first bet, and with all eyes glued on her, threw the dice and won her bet. “Oh, I won, I won!” she exclaimed. “Can I keep playing?” I have never played craps and do not understand the game very well, so I cannot describe exactly what Sharon did. But over the next 45 minutes, she continued to play and, while she did not win with every toss of the dice, she gained more than she lost. Despite her innocent, dumb-blonde routine, it became clear that she knew exactly what she was doing. And when her winnings reached $650, she thanked all the players, took her money, and walked away, giving them a nice wiggle of the posterior as she left with what had been their money. “Here is your $50 back,” Sharon said to Jack, returning the money he had given her. Flashing the rest of the cash, she said, “And here is the money we will use to buy tickets to see Luis Rojo.” “Where did you learn to play craps like that?” I asked her incredulously. Sharon replied, “An old boyfriend I dated many years ago was a serious gambler. He taught me a lot, especially how to play craps. I don’t really find it enjoyable. But it is a good skill to have, especially when you could use some extra money.” Sharon then said, “OK, I did my part. Now, Ana, it is time for you to do yours.” Sharon handed Ana the $600 and pointed to the ticket booth a short distance away. “Sellout or not, it is time for you to get us those Luis Rojo tickets. Go for it, girl.” “How do I end up in situations like this?” Ana asked. She stood at full attention and closed her eyes for a few seconds in order to concentrate on what she was about to do. When she opened them, she said, “OK, wish me luck.” Ana walked up to the ticket booth, swiveling her hips from side to side under her tight red dress. She flashed a big smile that seemed to indicate she did not have a care in the world, and she looked right into the eyes of the ticket vendor as she approached him. “Good evening,” Ana said. “I would like to purchase six tickets for tonight’s Luis Rojo performance,” “Oh, I am sorry, ma’am. Tonight’s performance is sold out,” the vendor said. “Sold out?” Ana replied in an innocent voice. “Isn’t there any way I can get tickets?” “Come back 30 minutes before the performance. If any of the tickets reserved for VIPs have been returned, they will be available for sale, first-come-first-serve. That is the best I can do for you.” “And you don’t know if any tickets will be available? You must know right now whether any tickets have been returned.” Ana stared lovingly at the vendor, who was fidgeting nervously but managing to maintain his professional composure. Ana has this ability to look at you in such a way that convinces you that she is madly in love with you, even if you know that such a thing is impossible. This poor vendor was getting the full treatment from her. “Look, ma’am,” the vendor said. “I am not supposed to tell you this, but we did get six tickets back this afternoon. If you come back 40 minutes before the performance, you should be the first in line, and then I will be able to sell them to you when they go up for sale. But do not tell anyone I told you, or I could get in big trouble.” “It will be our little secret, dear,” Ana said, leaning toward him. “But why make me come back? Look, I am a VIP. I am a friend of Luis Rojo’s, and if Luis knew we were coming, he would have reserved the tickets for us weeks ago. We only changed some previous plans last night so we could come up today. If you sell me the tickets now, I will tell Luis when I see him backstage tonight, and he will be very happy with your casino. But if I don’t get in to the performance, he will be very angry.” “You say you are a friend of Luis Rojo? Let me call my boss.” The vendor paged his boss. When the boss arrived, he briefly discussed the matter with the vendor, and gave Ana one quick but obvious heads-to-toes look. Ana took a couple of steps back from the ticket counter to make sure the boss could see all of her, including her provocative red heels. The boss nodded his head to the vendor, and walked away, taking one last look at Ana. “OK, as long as you are a friend of Luis Rojo, I can sell them to you now,” the vendor said. “And tell Luis hello for me when you see him tonight.” “Oh, I will,” Ana said, handing the vendor the money in exchange for six tickets. “Muchas gracias. I wish everyone at the casino was as helpful as you.” Ana vamped back to us, swinging her hips and waving the tickets as an expression of victory. “I do regret having to tell a little white lie,” she said. “I only do it as a last resort, but sometimes a woman has to do what a woman has to do.” Maria’s mood changed in an instant when she saw Ana approaching with the tickets. She smiled, stood up straight and regained the familiar bounce in her stilettos as she walked. And the energy that she projected really brought her killer black dress to life. For the first time that evening, I noticed that people were turning to look specifically at her, as opposed to our three ladies as a trio. We had almost two hours to kill before the show, so we had a leisurely dinner at one of the casino’s restaurants. We then made our way to the amphitheater and, once inside, we found that our tickets were for the front row near the center of the stage. After all, the tickets had originally been set aside for VIPs. When the show began, Maria bounced up and down in her seat like a 14-year-old girl at her first rock concert. Ana was visibly excited as well. Luis Rojo came on stage and began singing within several feet of us. Unfortunately, his live performance was just as sickeningly sweet as his CDs. The man made Julio Iglesias sound like a hard-edged blues singer. Rojo sang in Spanish, but he used the same two words over and over – amor, which means love, and corazon, which means heart. A non-Spanish speaker who knew only those two words could follow his songs perfectly. I looked over to Bob for support, and we both tried to look excited. I then looked over to Sharon and Jack, who were hearing Rojo for the first time. Sharon was smiling and seemed to be getting into the spirit of the show, while Jack looked pretty much neutral about the whole thing. The audience consisted mostly of Luis Rojo fans, and they stood up and applauded at the end of each song. We did, too. Rojo looked over at times toward Maria, Ana and Sharon, which was not surprising as he had a perfect view of them from the stage. As the performance went on, it seemed like he was looking more and more at Maria, particularly when everyone stood up to applaud at the end of each song. And Maria was looking up at Rojo with all the intensity of a star-struck fan. I thought perhaps I was getting paranoid (and a little bit jealous as well), but it was unnerving to watch this back-and-forth interaction between this Latin singing star and my wife. About two-thirds of the way through the show, Rojo began singing one of his favorite ballads, in which he professes his undying love to a woman. In the middle of the second verse, he walked over to us, put his hand down, and beckoned Maria to take his hand and join him on stage. A couple of stage hands put down a stool that Maria used to go up on the stage. A sizable number of people in the audience cheered and whistled when Maria got up on the stage, which was understandable. In her matching black dress and stilettos, she was absolutely sizzling. Rojo took Maria by the hand and looked right in her eyes as he sung the lyrics about eternal love. For her part, Maria handled her impromptu stage role perfectly. She stared at him with total adoration, as if she honestly believed the words were directed solely at her. She took a step back, and then another, and Rojo continued to hold her hand as he followed her around the stage. When Rojo finished the second verse, he pulled Maria toward him, and they began dancing as his band played the musical interlude between verses. Maria is not a particularly good dancer, but she let Rojo lead her and kept up with him nicely. If anyone noticed – and I am sure more than a few members of the audience did – Maria was giving a first-class demonstration of how to move gracefully in 5-1/2 inch heels. The dance ended when it came time for Rojo to sing the third verse, but even then he kept Maria close to him, and she willingly obliged. Rojo finished the song with a prolonged note while singing te quiero (I want you). Maria complemented this ending note perfectly by breaking into one of her big, beautiful sexy smiles that reduce me to mush every time I see it. When Rojo finished his note and the music ended, he pulled Maria to him again and kissed her on the cheek. The crowd erupted into the loudest applause of the night, and rightly so, as the chemistry between Rojo and Maria was undeniable. Rojo walked her to the edge of the stage, and the stage hands put the stool down again and helped her back to her seat. I heard someone in the audience yell, “Don’t go!” and someone else shouted, “Keep the lady on the stage!” Maria was positively beaming when she sat down, and I felt as if I had to watch her closely to be sure she did not pass out from hyperventilation. Our eventful night took yet another unexpected turn two songs later, when an usher handed Maria a note and inviting her and others in her party to join Luis Rojo and the band backstage after the performance. Each of the six of us took turns cradling the note as if it were a check for a million dollars. I have to admit, even I was excited. To be continued.

The temperature in the room went up about 10 degrees when I downloaded these latest photos. Just the thing for a cold, rainy March day. Thanks, Gina!

Weekend at the Lake

Written in the first person by Steve

“I’m just an exhibitionist,” Maria intoned as she looked at herself in the mirror. “A self-centered showoff. A vamp. Nothing more.”

Exhibitionist or not, it would have been hard for anyone in our hotel room not to look hard at Maria. She was wearing a black dress that hung sensuously from her brown shoulders and formed a large v-neck that exposed an ample amount of cleavage. The dress hugged her quite tightly from the chest down, highlighting the delightful curves of her waist and hips before ending at the knee. Complementing the dress were blacked seamed stockings (not panty hose, but true seamed stockings) and the piece de resistance: her killer pair of 5-1/2 inch black stiletto heels.

“And what a lovely vamp you are,” I joked. I immediately regretted what I said.

“Oh, Steve, I’m not playing around,” Maria said somewhat angrily. “Sometimes I don’t know who I am. I am supposed to be a serious business student at a respected university, but everyone calls me “Senora Heels” because I walk around the campus in stilettos every day. I am not sure how many people even know my real name.”

“When we were first married, you wore stilettos as a badge of individuality,” I said. “You were hell-bent on opening people’s minds, and on getting them to accept you as the woman you wanted to be. You insisted on respect for both your physical beauty and your intellect. What happened?”

“Reality hit me. Or maybe I just grew up. High heels and femininity may be important in El Salvador, but they are not relevant here in the United States. Why should anyone take me seriously when they see me walking with these ridiculous sticks of wood under my feet? Maybe I should limit myself to two-inch block heels like everyone else. Maybe then people will respect me.”

“With all due respect, my dear…bullshit!” came a female voice from outside of our hotel room. The door, which we had left ajar, opened, and Sharon walked in, accompanied by her husband, Jack. Sharon was her usual striking self, attired in a tight yellow mini-dress with matching 5-1/2-inch stiletto sandals.

Sharon added, “Sorry, Maria, but I could not help overhearing you as we approached your room. What you are saying is totally wrong. One of the very best things that ever happened to me was when Ana and you transformed me into a full-time, expert heel wearer. More women need to experience the things that we have.”

Jack said, “Maria, you have spent too much time at the university around all those pompous, politically correct types who don’t understand anything outside of their own narrow world view. The person you really need to start listening to is yourself. Hopefully, we will be able to help you with that.”

The door opened again, and Ana and Bob entered. “Who needs help?” Ana asked. She looked stunning in a tight, mid-length red dress and matching red, 5-1/2-inch stiletto sandals.

Ana looked at Maria’s melancholy expression and immediately answered her own question. She gave Maria a hug and asked, “Que pasa, mi amiga? Tell me what is happening?”

Maria briefed her on our conversation, and Ana said, “Oh, is that all? Sexy Latin woman feels out of place in her adopted country and wants to be like all the gringas? How often does that happen to me, maybe once a week?”

Bob said, “Maria, you are entitled to feel down about things occasionally, especially with all the pressure you are feeling from your studies. Just recognize it for what it is. By the end of our little weekend getaway, you will be feeling 100 percent better about yourself. I guarantee it.”

“Thanks, everyone,” Maria said, not looking convinced by anything the five of us had said. “I appreciate that you are all trying to be supportive. I have a lot of thinking to do, but I do not want to ruin anyone’s weekend. Let’s all get out of this room. I want you all to have fun. Don’t worry about me.”

I put my arm around Maria’s shoulder, and as we left the room and I shut the door behind us, I said, “If you’re not having fun, you will ruin my weekend. So don’t think too much, OK? Just enjoy.”

The six of us had not gotten together for several months, thanks mainly to the demands of our jobs (or, in Maria’s case, her studies). We decided to break the drudgery with a weekend trip to Lake Tahoe, the awe-inspiring mountain lake that straddles the California-Nevada state line. We all got into Bob and Ana’s minivan on Saturday morning, drove up to the lake and checked into one of the casino hotels on the Nevada side of the lake. The ladies had talked earlier in the week (before Maria’s mood took a nosedive) and planned what they would wear during the weekend. Thus, they were prepared for our Saturday evening in the casino with their complementary dresses and eye-catching 5-1/2-inch stilettos.

As we made our way through the crowded casino, any number of gamblers looked up from their slot machines to get a better look at our three ladies. I was so accustomed by that time to the stares and gawks that they would attract that I barely gave it a thought. I was mainly looking at Sharon, and was impressed that she was walking effortlessly in her sky-high yellow sandals, with a tasteful wiggle that made her look every bit as experienced in high heels as her two mentors. It was no longer right to think of her as the novice of the trio; she was Maria’s and Ana’s peer in every heely respect.

We were walking through the lobby of the casino when Ana pointed to a large display sign on the wall and said, “Look, Maria! Look who is performing at this casino tonight!” Maria turned, looked at the sign, and squealed with delight like an excited schoolgirl. It was the first time I had seen her smile during the trip.

“Oh my god, Ana, it can’t be! Luis Rojo is here! I can’t believe it!” Maria exclaimed.

I looked at the display and groaned, and Bob did the same. We were both married to Latin women, and we had both been exposed to the music of Luis Rojo, a Puerto Rican crooner who was so sickeningly sweet and romantic that he left a bad taste in the mouth of any man who heard one of his tunes. But Latin women seemed to love him. For the most part, I liked Maria’s taste in music, and I enjoyed listening to many of her salsa CDs. But whenever Maria put on one of her romantic Luis Rojo CDs, I would have to go outside or, if I was really desperate, into the bathroom. He was that bad.

Nevertheless, Bob and I walked over to the ticket counter to see if any tickets were available. The vendor told us the night’s performance had long been sold out, but that we could try checking back with him 30 minutes before the show to see if any tickets that had been set aside for VIPs had been returned unused. If any were left, they would cost $100 each.

“Could you imagine paying $100 to see Luis Rojo?” I said quietly to Bob. But Maria looked more crestfallen than ever when I told her all the tickets for the show were almost certainly gone, and all of a sudden several hundred dollars did not seem like a lot to improve her mood.

“It’s better this way,” she said dejectedly. “Ana is the only other one of us who might be remotely interested in Luis Rojo. It would be wrong to push the rest of you to spend hundreds of dollars on a show you wouldn’t like.”

“Nonsense!” Sharon said. “Maria, if it is important to you, it is important to us. We will go to that show, and we will not need to spend our own money.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Bob asked.

“We have to be a little bit enterprising,” Sharon replied. “We have to use the assets that we have. Leave it to Ana and me. Right, Ana?”

“Right…I guess,” Ana said with some hesitation. “What do we do?”

Introduction – By Steve We were having so much fun that there was no reason to stop. Three previous threads that appear on this Web site – “The First Sister: Ana,” “The Second Sister: Maria,” and “The Third Sister: Sharon,” tell the story of the remarkable changes that took place in my life and the people close to me during the years 1994 through 1996. In these threads, my close friend Bob and his lovely wife Ana shared with me their interest in having Ana become a full-time high-heel wearer. This intrigued me so much that I ended up falling in love with and marrying Maria, a gorgeous and incredibly skilled high-heel wearer in her own right. When Sharon, an old friend of mine, moved to town to start a new life for herself, she found Maria and Ana to be the perfect role models for her own high-heel endeavors. And Sharon ended up hitting things off with Jack. By the time 1996 came to a close, these three ladies were teaching themselves to walk in 6-inch heels, with the enthusiastic support and encouragement of their significant others. The stories to follow will chronicle the continuing adventures of the six of us in the years 1997 and 1998. They were exciting and rewarding years, in which Maria, Ana and Sharon grew and developed as high-heel wearers, loving wives and talented on-the-job professionals, usually with delightful results. These stories may not be for everyone, but the six of us are proud of our lifestyles and are happy to share our experiences with people who might them interesting. If you think you might be one of those, then by all means, please read on.

Here in the U.S., the big holiday in late November is Thanksgiving, where we are supposed to give thanks for all the good things we have. I give thanks that I am able to come here month after month and see these gorgeous photos posted by Gina. Bless you, Gina, and happy holidays!

Sounds like a great way to enjoy a workout, Adeana. I like your way of thinking.

Interview: Sharon and Jack

Driving up to the house where Sharon and Jack live is like stepping into one of those magazines that feature perfect homes that are too good for mere mortals. Their home looks like a country estate, with manicured lawns, immaculately maintained gardens and the like. You step into the house, and the surreal experience continues: you are greeted in each room with paintings, sculptures, and much better furniture than you will ever see in your home. You do not think anything can top it until Sharon enters the room to greet you. She is just a tad over 40, but with the figure of a physically fit woman half her age. She is donning a dark-blue sweater, tastefully short black skirt, and blue 5-inch stiletto pumps. Sharon is a good match for Jack, whose ruggedly good looks easily make you forget that he is 20 years Sharon’s senior. They are the perfect dream couple for the perfect dream home.

Given the timeless quality of the home and its inhabitants, it is important to remember that this interview took place in early autumn 2004, just about eight years after Sharon and Jack met at a reception for employees at the hospital where they worked at the time. As we sit down to begin the interview, Sharon offers me a choice of several different kinds of tea or coffee, and Jack asks whether I would like to listen to Chopin or Bach as background music. They make it seem so easy that you wonder why you aren’t living in a house like this, and enjoying a marriage like theirs.

Steve: I come into this house, and all I see is: good taste, good taste, good taste. How do you do it?

Jack: Beauty is something that is worth pursuing in life. We are fortunate to have the means to engage in the activity of cultivating beauty and art. If you have the desire, and the means, you can accomplish a lot in that area.

Steve: My story did not get into the details of how the two of you met. Can you talk a little about that?

Sharon: I had been working at the hospital for about six months when they had their annual reception for hospital employees, which covered everyone from the doctors to clerks and the janitorial staff. I was in the middle of my so-called transformation at that point, and I believe I had gotten up to 4-inch heels. So I wore 4-inch heels and a miniskirt to the reception. I was expecting a negative reaction, because as a nurse I wore a standard nursing uniform and flats, and nobody there had ever seen me in heels and a miniskirt. I thought I would get lectures about how I was destroying my feet. I had known who Jack was, because he was one of the more prominent surgeons associated with the hospital, but I had never met him. He saw me, introduced himself, and we began talking. The rest took care of itself.

Jack: I had been divorced for seven or eight years by that time, and was in a prolonged mid-life crisis. I was looking for something beyond what I had. Before I met Sharon, I used to go out on dates with women who would talk, talk, talk, talk. God, I was so sick of talking! I wanted a woman who could express herself physically. I had been fascinated by heel-wearing women since my teens, and I think I made a mistake earlier in my life by not indulging my passion in that area. So I was on the lookout for someone like Sharon when I went to the reception. When I saw her, I knew she was the one. I struck gold that night.

Steve: Why were you so certain? It must have been more than just the heels.

Jack: To pick up on your phrase, Sharon had good taste. She was feminine and sexy, but tasteful. I honestly believe that women, and men to a lesser degree, provide a window to their inner selves by the way they dress. I say men to a lesser degree because society basically relegates us to shirts and ties. Women have far more options.

Steve: Sharon, what really prompted you to begin wearing heels?

Sharon: When I moved here, I was still in a state of depression because my previous engagement had failed. I wanted to get away to a new city and make a start on my own, but at the same time I felt badly that I did not know anyone here. Hello, can we have some consistency in one’s thinking, please? Depression does that to you. I called you, Steve, because I knew no one else and I wanted to talk to somebody. I then met Maria and I thought, oh Steve, you married some red-hot bimbo as a way of shoring up your insecurity about your masculinity. And it was all my fault because I didn’t kiss you back in high school. Guilt, guilt!

But as I got to know both Maria and Ana, I realized they were intelligent, sensitive women. And they were quite conservative, really. They convinced me it is possible to be drop-dead gorgeous, intelligent and be a good loving person, all at the same time. I didn’t feel so sorry for Steve after all! I am always looking for challenges, for ways to improve myself, and I thought if I could focus on being glamorous like those two women, I could lift myself out of my rut, and maybe attract a good man at the same time.

Steve: Did you honestly think you would still be a daily heel wearer after all this time?

Sharon: Honestly, no. When I started, I thought it would be a passing phase, a reaction to being rejected the previous year. But there was no reason why it should have been temporary. A devotion to heels and feminine appearance is not much different than a devotion to yoga, or even to competitive sports. They are all physical activities in which you aim to do your best and improve yourself through skill, devotion and discipline. You take pride and feel good when you achieve your goals.

Steve: You obviously do not feel it is superficial to concentrate so heavily on your appearance.

Sharon: Heck no. Now there are superficial women who concentrate on their appearance because they have nothing inside to offer, but it is pretty easy to spot those types. Unfortunately, I think they make a bad name for the rest of us. I have very much embraced Maria’s and Ana’s philosophy of expressing myself through my dress and shoes. If people like it, that’s fine, and if they don’t, that’s fine, too. But the way I dress is still me, and I am not leaving any time soon.

Steve: And you obviously don’t mind standing out in the crowd.

Sharon: That is one of the challenges I faced during my transformation period. I was brought up like a lot of middle-class American women to be modest in my appearance. Heels, for example, were for the bimbos and the fast crowd. Drawing too much attention to yourself diminishes, rather than enhances, your stature as a woman. I had to get that out of my mind during my transition to heels, and I leaned heavily on Maria and Ana for that. It helped for me to associate so closely with two women from another culture who had grown up with different attitudes. I was amazed at how those two could walk so calmly as people gawked at them, and to them it was totally natural. I had to learn how to do that. Maria once said to me that artists can’t control how others interpret their work and that, similarly, she couldn’t fret about what people thought of her.

Steve: You said earlier that Maria and Ana are basically conservative. What do you mean by that?

Sharon: To this day, Maria and Ana love the image of being these red hot, uninhibited Latinas, but they are really conservative, small-town Central American girls. They wear the sexy heels and tight clothes because that’s what they were taught in their native cultures. But they never ventured beyond what they were taught. In my case, I not only broke away from my past by learning to wear high heels, but I ended up pushing Maria and Ana to go beyond the norms of their native cultures by experimenting with 6-inch heels and the like. Your story covers that in some detail. Just as they taught me a lot, I am proud I taught them not to be prisoners of their own culture and their own upbringing. I’m certainly glad I could teach them something!

Steve: Do you still believe that you wear heels as an expression of health? Or was that just a rationalization you developed when you started wearing heels?

Sharon: I firmly believe it. I often get compliments from women who ask me how I manage to dress the way I do. I usually reply by saying, “I am healthy, I feel feminine and this is how I express myself.” Healthiness is a positive state of mind as well as physical well-being. We would be better off as a society if we celebrated healthiness by extolling good appearance. I think we ought to market high heels to teenage girls instead of fast food.

Steve: Nice thought, even though it will never happen.

Sharon: You may think it’s utopian, but think about it: Maria and Ana grew up in societies that taught women to value high heels more than junk food. Societies like that really do exist!

Steve: How do you respond to the argument that high heels cannot be an expression of health because they are bad for your feet?

Jack: I do not believe that is true. Given my own interest in heels, I have studied up on podiatry and the effects of high heels on women’s feet. Obviously, it is not ‘natural’ for a woman to walk in heels, and some women should not wear heels on an ongoing basis because they do not have the needed flexibility in their arches and other areas of the foot. But many women can wear heels safely if they do it properly. Regular exercise of the foot muscles and tendons, along with careful attention to high-quality shoes with a proper fit, will allow many women to wear heels regularly for years without problems. In my humble medical opinion.

Steve: What do the two of you do in your current jobs?

Sharon: I left the hospital several years ago, and I am now the wellness coordinator for a senior citizens’ community center in our city. I am responsible for a number of programs that cater to seniors, including a lunch program, exercise classes, educational classes, and various recreational activities. My nursing background was an excellent preparation for this job.

Steve: And do you wear heels to work?

Sharon: Absolutely! More often than not, I wear 5-inch heels, and short skirts and dresses. And, yes, my attire is very well received by the vast majority of the seniors. People get into this mindset where they wear dowdy, frumpy clothes around seniors, and what are they really saying when they do that? That seniors are dowdy, frumpy people? Plenty of seniors are healthy, energetic and full of life and, yes, they still like sex, too! My heels and manner of dress are my way of telling them that they are healthy, sexy people, and you would be surprised at how they respond. A lot of the women wear heels to the center, and you would be amazed at how a roomful of dressy, two- and three-inch heels can change the atmosphere there. Some women have carried in a pair of beautiful, 5-inch heels that they wore in the 1950s, because they wanted to show them to me. And you better believe the senior men notice that sort of thing. One of the best things I can do for my seniors is to make them feel healthy and sexy, and I try my best to create an atmosphere where that can happen. I have to admit that it is the perfect job for me.

Jack: My life is not as interesting as Sharon’s. I continue to work as a surgeon. I don’t feel I am ready to retire yet, although I suppose that day is coming. When it arrives, I will probably become a full-time investor.

Steve: I think some readers may find it intriguing that two health professionals have such a strong interest in heels, and may arguably even be called fetishists. Any thoughts?

Jack: People have too many hang-ups. I think my medical training has helped me to look at this whole question dispassionately. Human beings have evolved to like adorning themselves. It is natural for us to adorn our bodies in certain ways for our own enjoyment and to enhance our sexual attractiveness. It may be lipstick or eye shadow, it may be high heels, or it may be corsets or whatever else. So what? We should enjoy exploring these aspects of human nature, rather than feeling ashamed of them. We experience such little true, bona fide pleasure in our lives that we should be encouraging people to get in touch with these kinds of desires, as long as they do no harm to themselves or others. Instead, we sit by while people harm themselves with tobacco, alcohol and drugs. Now that is sick!

Sharon: I agree with Jack. People still think of doctors and nurses as god-like figures who don’t share the quirks and passions of the rest of humanity. What trash! Who would want a doctor or nurse like that anyway? When I was still a nurse, I had this fantasy of going to work in 5-inch heels and a ridiculously short nursing uniform, like you often see in porno flicks. In the fantasy, my female patients see me and say, “I want to be able to look and dress like you,” and I say, “You can. Just take care of yourself and nurture yourself back to health.” And I see them a few months later enjoying themselves in 5-inch heels and miniskirts. Yes, it is a silly fantasy, but I think it would make for a much better reality than what you see in hospitals today, with all the people in there for drug abuse and gunshot wounds. And just think of all the patients we’re going to get in the future because of our current obesity epidemic. It all reflects the fact that people see no reason to take care of themselves. It is very, very sad.

Think of it this way. A person becomes a legal adult at 18 and, with a healthy lifestyle and a little luck, can expect to have a body that functions at a very high level of performance for about 40 years, give or take a few years. That is not a long time, so use your body wisely and use it well. And get as much enjoyment out of it as you can.

I had been away for several months and came back to revisit the site here to find, to my horror, that many postings between February and July had disappeared. My first two sets of stories about Ana and Maria remain, but the third set of stories about Sharon appear to have been lost in the void of cyberspace. To anyone who might be interested in reading them, here they are. Be warned that it is probably a bit much to read in one sitting... *** On the first Saturday following New Year’s Day 1996, Maria and I were relaxing at home when the phone rang. Maria answered it, and gave the phone to me. “It’s Sharon,” she said, with the suspicious look of a newlywed who by happenstance learns about a woman from her husband’s past. Sharon? I don’t really know anyone named Sharon, I thought. It couldn’t be that Sharon…I spoke with Sharon for over an hour, and by the time I hung up, Maria was all ears. “Now tell me about Sharon,” she said. I explained that Sharon was an old platonic friend from the high school I had attended in a neighboring state. We both worked on the school newspaper. Sharon was bright, earthy and something of a free spirit, with an effusive personality and an interest in just about every subject under the sun. I liked her enough that I asked her out on a date, which was a bit of a disaster because neither of us were ready to pursue even a high school romance. The climax of the evening was when I leaned over to kiss her goodnight and she pulled away from me, badly bruising my still-tender adolescent ego. Despite that disappointment, we remained platonic friends until we graduated. We lost touch after high school, but I saw her at our school’s 10-year reunion in 1991, and we swapped addresses and phone numbers. I had not had any contact with her since. She was calling because she was starting a new job as a nurse at a hospital close to our home, and she was in town to look for an apartment. I was the one person in our metropolitan area that she knew. “She expects to sign a lease on an apartment today, and she should have some time to see us tomorrow before she heads home,” I said to Maria. “I told her to come by. I hope that’s OK. We’ll be the only people in town that she knows, and I figured we should make her feel welcome.” “That’s fine. She confirmed that the two of you aren’t that close when I answered the phone and she called me Pam. She obviously didn’t even know you had been divorced and remarried,” Maria said. I helped Maria prepare a light lunch the following morning. Maria then went into the bedroom to change. She came out wearing a white short-sleeve top, tight blue jeans, and her black 5-inch stiletto sandals. “Is this OK?” she asked me. Maria had gone out and bought several pairs of blue jeans after we had returned home from our cruise the previous month. Her new friendship with Ana had given her a real appetite for provocatively tight jeans. I was not surprised that she wanted to wear jeans, but I was caught offguard that Maria had invoked our little ritual for this occasion. She only needed my concurrence on her attire when she was dressing with the intent of using her feminine appeal to challenge or shock someone. I did not think this was the time for that. “Listen,” I said, “This is only going to be the second time that I have seen Sharon in the 15 years since we graduated from high school. You don’t need to prove anything with her. You can just relax and be yourself.” “What’s wrong with you today? All of a sudden you don’t know your own wife? I AM being myself!” Maria said. “But if it will make you feel better, I’ll go put on a loose pair of slacks and walk around barefoot today.” I immediately apologized and told Maria that she was fine the way she was. “I think the prospect of seeing Sharon put my head in some kind of time warp. She absolutely should see you the way you really are.” Sharon arrived, and she looked pretty much as I had remembered her from the reunion. She was 5 feet 7 inches in height, with long, dark-blonde hair and a pleasant athletic figure. She was dressed pretty much as I had expected: a blue top, baggy brown pants and flat loafers. She was definitely an attractive woman who could appeal to someone with down-to-earth tastes. “Oh, Steve, it’s so great to see you!” she said while giving me a bear hug. I could see a little surprise in her eyes when I introduced her to Maria. “I hope you didn’t dress up for me. My old friend Steve really married a fashion plate,” Sharon told her. Sharon explained over a leisurely lunch that she had been working as a nurse for a number of years at a hospital not far from where we had gone to high school. She had been engaged to a doctor who worked there, but he had called off the engagement a few weeks before the wedding, and Sharon was heartbroken. She could no longer bear to work at the hospital, and wanted to move to a new city to get a fresh start. She said she taped a map to the wall, closed her eyes, threw a dart, and hit our city, and that was how she decided to move to our area. That was classic Sharon, a free spirit who did things her own way. She had little trouble landing a nursing job at our local hospital, and she was due to start the following month. “I’m in a new town, with a new job and a new life. Except for the two of you, nobody knows me. I get to redefine myself, become a different person from who I was, if that’s what I decide to do,” Sharon said. Maria and I gave Sharon a heavily edited account of our own courtship and marriage. “Looking at the two of you, I can’t get over it,” Sharon said. “Steve was this really nerdy guy in high school, and I can say that because I was this really nerdy girl. We tried dating once when we were 16, but it ended up being a sort of brother-sister date. And now Steve ends up with such a gorgeous wife. Look at those heels. After I move next month, maybe I can ask you for some advice on clothes, makeup, that kind of thing. I could benefit from a makeover.” “I’d be delighted,” Maria said. Maria and Sharon said goodbye, and I walked Sharon out to her car. She said, “I’m really happy for you, Steve. I remember how insecure you were around me and every girl in our school, and now you have a bombshell wife. I still can’t get over her heels. I hope she is every bit as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.” “She is, Sharon. Believe me, she is.” “That’s great, Steve. See you next month.” *** *** Maria and I went to Sharon’s apartment on her move-in day in February to help her unpack and get organized, and to take her out to a welcome lunch. I learned a lot about Sharon as we talked. For example, while I knew Sharon was athletic and had been on the tennis team in high school, I had not known that she had been active in ballet and gymnastics earlier in her childhood. While studying to be a nurse, she had worked as a yoga instructor and also dabbled in some New Age spiritual practices. Maria took a liking to Sharon immediately, which did not shock me. While Maria and Sharon had completely different backgrounds, Maria tends to like people who continue to challenge themselves and seek opportunities for personal growth. Maria was definitely intrigued by Sharon’s eclectic interests. While at lunch, Sharon accepted Maria’s invitation to sample the local shopping hot spots the following day. Sharon was also fine with Maria’s suggestion that Ana come along as well. The following morning, Maria reprised her attire of the day of Sharon’s visit the previous month – a short-sleeve white top, skintight jeans and 5-inch stiletto sandals. This time, Maria did not ask me for my opinion or concurrence. The doorbell rang and it was Ana, dressed similarly in a blue top, skintight jeans, and her 5-inch stiletto mules. “Buenas dias,” Ana said to me as she entered. “I’m looking forward to meeting the woman who was your first date in high school.” She then added, “And don’t you think Maria just sizzles in jeans? You owe me on that, Steve.” “If I were Sharon, I would be totally intimidated by the two of you,” I said. “She’s a down-to-earth lady. Take it easy on her.” “Oh, Steve, you underestimate her. She is tougher and more daring than you think. She can handle us,” Maria responded. “Women know these things.” Sharon rang the doorbell. She was wearing a plain brown top, baggy jeans and tennis shoes, just as I had expected. “How exciting,” Sharon said after we introduced her to Ana. “I’ve never gone shopping with a couple of supermodels before. This will be a new experience.” “Hmm. I don’t think anyone has ever called us models before, have they?” Ana said as she winked at me. The ladies returned hours later with boxes and bags containing various items. Maria was wearing a new coordinated suit she had bought, featuring a dark-purple vest top and matching purple pencil skirt. “I just had to wear it home,” she said defensively. “So, Sharon, how was your day with these two clotheshorses?” I asked. “Very stimulating,” Sharon said. “We engaged in a lot of girl talk. This may come as a total shock to you, Steve, but they’re trying to convince me to wear heels. I have precisely one pair of two-inch heels, so I’m not exactly a true believer. They still need to convince me why I should want to walk on stilts.” Maria said, “We came back here because we wanted you to be part of the conversation, Steve.” “Me? Why drag me into this?” I asked. “OK,” Ana said to Sharon. “First, a warning. Maria and I have some very strongly held views on heels that may not be suitable for prudes and the weak-of-heart. Do we have your permission to proceed?” When Sharon said yes, Ana turned 90 degrees so that we all could see her shapely profile, and she stood fully erect. She turned her head toward us and said, “Where I come from, women wear high heels. Heels are not just a fashion option to be worn with a certain favorite dress. They are an indispensable part of a woman’s femininity. We learn from an early age that femininity encompasses how a woman thinks, how she acts, and how she looks. We’re taught not to be afraid of how we look. We learn to be proud of the longer legs, shapelier behinds, and sexier walks that we get with high heels. Rather than obsess over our imperfections, which women here tend to do, women in Costa Rica and much of the rest of Latin America revel in what we have. Femininity is to be enjoyed, to be celebrated, and not to be covered up. High heels help us celebrate our femininity. And without our femininity, who are we?” “Bravo! You go, girl!” Sharon said, clapping. Maria then turned to address us. She had taken her shoes off while Ana was talking, and she set them down next to her. She briefly dangled one of her bare feet in the air. “This is how we are born, and this is how many women go through life. Many people believe we should wear flat shoes our entire lives because that is what nature intended. But there are always alternatives.” She then eased into her 5-inch heels, turned to the side to give her hips maximum prominence, and looked at Sharon with one of those lustful stares that sends a shiver down my spine whenever she directs it to me. “When a woman steps into high heels, everything changes. Everything. We are taller, our curves are more visible, and we walk to a more sensual rhythm. People look at us, people are attracted to us. Life becomes more pleasurable, more feminine, more sensual. It is like a colorblind person who wakes up one day and sees colors for the first time. Life is never the same again. And you never want to go back to the way things were. Let’s not forget that there are three dimensions: length, width and height. Why should I live my life in two dimensions when high heels enable me to experience that altogether different third dimension? High heels enable me to experience and enjoy life to the fullest. High heels are really about life.” “Wow. I’m speechless,” Sharon said. Maria looked at me and said, “And now it’s your turn, dear. Give us a man’s perspective on women in high heels. You don’t have to strike a feminine pose if you don’t want to.” “Gee, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I can top either of you,” I said. I took a few seconds to collect my thoughts and said, “Before I met Maria and Ana, I was still a man. I was still attracted to women, and still enjoyed my relationships with women. But after I met these two, it was like Maria said: Everything changed. Their femininity, their sensuality is intoxicating. Every time Maria and I go somewhere, I can’t wait to see what she will wear, what kind of heels will be on her feet. I love looking at her, I love walking with her. Her comfort in expressing her femininity enhances my own masculinity. In other words, she makes me feel like more of a man, and I enjoy life more. And that, for me, is what heels are about. Life is more sensual. It is simply better. Heels improve the quality of life. Not just Maria’s life, but my life, too.” “Very good, Steve!” Maria said. “I didn’t think you had that in you.” I added, “The bottom line, Sharon, is that you have to do what is right for you. Maria and Ana both come from cultures that place an unusual premium on high heels. They do what is natural and right for them, but that does not necessarily mean it is right for you. If you want to experiment with heels, that’s fine, but experiment at a pace and with heights that are right for you.” “Thanks, Steve, I appreciate that,” Sharon said. “I have never been fashionable or glamorous in my life, but this may the right time to make a change in that direction. I have a lot to think about.” Sharon phoned our house the following evening. She asked for Maria, who was studying at the university library. She asked if she could come over anyway. She arrived shortly afterward, and asked if she could borrow a pair of Maria’s heels for a moment. I was puzzled, but went to our bedroom and brought a pair of 4-inch pumps with a relatively wide heel. They’re older shoes that Maria had stopped wearing. Sharon took off her shoes and squeezed into Maria’s heels, which seemed to be half a size too small for her. She wobbled in the heels and had to lean her right hand against the wall to steady herself. “Steve, I started my new job today at the hospital. During the day, I thought about yesterday’s conversation a lot, and now I know what I want to do. Listen, and tell me what you think.” Sharon looked straight at me while trying to balance in the heels. “As a nurse, I am devoting my life to treating the sick. Helping people regain their health is one of the most rewarding jobs a person can have. But the sad truth is that, most of the time, I am around sickness and even death. Many of my patients are elderly people who know that their youth and their good health are gone and will never return. Because I am around so much illness during my work day, I want to exude health and life when I am off work. Nothing expresses health and life for a woman like high heels. High heels enhance a woman’s femininity and sexuality. A woman in high heels can feel as if she will be healthy and beautiful forever, and she can make everyone around her feel healthy and alive as well. I want to nurture people when I am off work by expressing my health and femininity with high heels.” I broke into applause. “If that’s what you want to do, Sharon, you have my support. I’ll tell Maria the minute she gets home, and she’ll tell Ana. They’ll coach you every step of the way.” “I needed my own philosophy, Steve. Maria and Ana are from countries where masculinity and femininity are taken very seriously, and I could not adopt what they had said for myself. But I found a way to link high heels with things that I am passionate about.” Sharon shot me a flirty look that I had never seen, and she started to walk toward me. “Yes sir, Steve, I am going to become a sensuous, feminine, high quality-of-life woman. W-O-M-A….” She never finished her sentence because she lost her balance and fell flat on her face. Fortunately, the floor was carpeted. I rushed to her and helped her up. I was afraid she was hurt, but instead she was laughing hysterically. “I am such a klutz! Can you really see me strutting around in high heels like those two Latin goddesses? I’ll give it a try, but Maria and Ana sure have their work cut out for them. It should be one hell of a ride!” *** *** *** The doorbell rang on a Saturday morning in early June 1996. I opened the door, and Sharon was there in a tight, dark-blue mini-dress and a pair of 4-inch stiletto heels. “Hi, Steve,” she asked with a disarming innocence. “How do I look?” I had been following Sharon’s transformation with great interest during the previous months, but it was still hard for me to connect my newly reacquainted friend from high school with the woman who was standing before me. “You…you look terrific,” I said somewhat awkwardly. “Sorry I can’t be more articulate, Sharon. My mother never taught me what to say in situations like this.” Sharon had begun her transformation in February, the week after her initial shopping trip with Maria and Ana. They helped Sharon picked out a pair of wide 3-inch heels, which she wore around her apartment and then out in public. By mid-March, with her two friends’ help, Sharon bought a pair of 3-1/2 inch heels. On the first of May, Sharon bought a pair of 4-inch block heels, then bought her 4-inch stiletto heels a few weeks later. With each pair of shoes, she had gone from her first tentative steps to strutting around in confidence in a matter of days, or at most a few weeks. Some of the credit for Sharon’s progress certainly went to Maria and Ana, who were sharing their vast knowledge with Sharon on walking, balancing, selecting shoes for good fit, and the like. But it was really a tribute to Sharon herself. Far from being a klutz, Sharon was utilizing the ballet and gymnastics training she had received as a young girl, which had given her considerable flexibility and balance. She also viewed her quest to wear heels as an athletic and psychological challenge that required total dedication, which she was willing to give. As a nurse, she was limited to wearing flat shoes at work, but she wore heels at home and outside when she was off work. We were all excited to see her progress, and Maria and Ana took special pride in the success of their star pupil. Bob was introduced to Sharon early on, and also followed her progress with interest. Sharon’s transformation went far beyond shoes. She had her hair professionally styled, and signed up for professional consulting on cosmetics. Maria and Ana also exposed her to many different styles of clothing but, in typical Sharon fashion, she insisted on going her own way. Having no interest in competing with Ana by wearing pants or with Maria by wearing long, tight-fitting skirts, Sharon began buying short skirts and dresses at a furious pace. She was acquiring a complete wardrobe ranging from shockingly short mini-skirts and mini-dresses to longer skirts and dresses that could convey elegance and class when the occasion warranted. But, after about April or so, I rarely saw her wearing anything that covered her knees. I let Sharon in the house, where Maria and Ana were waiting for her. Ana and my wife were dressed pretty conservatively by their standards, wearing 4-inch heels and long, loose skirts. “Aw, shucks, senoras, you don’t have to dress down for me,” Sharon said when she saw them. “Nonsense,” Maria said. “You are the star today, Sharon, not us. Are we ready to go?” Maria then turned to me and asked, “Are you coming with us?” “I would not miss this for the world,” I said. The four of us got into our car, and I began driving. We were headed for the mall, where Maria and Ana would put Sharon through a training session in public. In the previous weeks, they had taught her the fundamentals about balancing and walking in heels, while Sharon independently developed the short skirt-oriented look that she wanted. Now the student was ready for the next step: feminine expression. Maria began her lecture while we were driving. “I go crazy when I hear American women say, ‘I can’t wait to get home and get out of these heels.’ You cannot have that kind of attitude if you are truly dedicated to feminine expression. You should want to live in heels. They should become part of your anatomy. You should get to the point where walking in heels is natural and walking in flats feels awkward and unnatural. That is your goal.” Ana added, “And if your heels are causing you pain, then think of it as a problem that needs to be addressed. Is there something wrong with the shoes? Are the heels too high for your level of skill and conditioning? The key is: Focus on the problem. Don’t feel that you have solved anything simply because you tossed off your heels.” “I can deal with that,” Sharon replied. “It is like any other kind of conditioning, like ballet, gymnastics or even tennis.” We arrived at the mall and walked inside. I hung back and observed the three women from about 30 feet behind, one of my favorite vantage points. It was quite instructive. Even though Sharon was wearing a much sexier dress than the other two, the eye tended to drift toward Maria and Ana, who were walking with their usual sensual, hypnotic rhythm. In comparison, Sharon’s walking motion was somewhat jerky and tentative. I noticed a number of men who looked initially at Sharon and then rested their eyes on Maria and Ana. Even though her progress to date had been unquestionably impressive, Sharon still had a ways to go. I caught up to the women in a corner of the mall where there were not a lot of people. This gave Maria and Ana the chance to provide further instruction to Sharon without being overheard. “What you want to do is generate an aura of femininity that surrounds you and takes in those who are close to you,” Maria said to Sharon. “The clothes you wear, the way you stand and move, the way you look at people, they all feed into the aura. It is not something you can produce in a week or two. It takes time. When you finally have the ability to generate it, however, the aura is a beautiful thing. It captures people. They cannot take their eyes off you, and they want to be close to you. The idea is not so much to attract men or make other women jealous, although there will be times when you want to do those things. The more fundamental goal is simply to create something beautiful, something that is deliciously, uniquely you, and which touches people on a very deep level. The same as an artist strives to achieve.” “Jeepers,” Sharon said. “That sounds like a pretty tall order.” “No, you just take it one step at a time, if you’ll pardon the expression,” Ana said. “For example, one thing that makes me crazy is when I see American women trying to walk the same in high heels as they do in flats. The reason a woman should wear heels is to walk entirely differently than you do in flats. Use the heels as tools to rock your body back and forth as you walk. Once you practice it enough, you will do it automatically. And then all kinds of things start to happen. People will notice you more, your self-confidence will grow, and you will make more eye contact with them and even begin to flirt with them. Without realizing it, your aura will be there.” We walked into one of the mall’s larger department stores. Sharon was trying hard to make her walk more deliberate and smooth, and she was doing better. Maria at one point even began whispering “one, two, one, two” to assist Sharon when no one besides the four of us was close enough to hear. We walked behind a rack of dresses where no one else could hear us. Maria said, “The ultimate accomplishment is to have a complete fusion of mind and body. This is so natural in Latin America that most women there do not even think about it, but women here have a hard time with the concept. It is really very simple: You talk to people simultaneously with words and with your body. You make no distinction between the intellectual and the physical. You can get into serious discussions with people while still enveloping them in your aura of sensuality.” “For example,” Ana said, “When I was an office manager in Costa Rica, I would often have to meet with customers or clients. I would talk about the business matter at hand, but I might stand like this.” She swiveled slightly to the side so that her shapely behind was at its most prominent. “And I would look deep into their eyes as we talked. And if I needed to walk across the room, I did so with a nice, sexy wiggle. And I would do all this while talking about accounts payable, interest rates, repayments, or whatever the issue was. We resolved our business matters, and we all had fun doing it. That is the way to go through life.” “You cannot really do that here,” Sharon said. “Most women would be fired for unprofessional behavior.” I interjected, “And I am becoming convinced that our society is all the poorer for that. But the point is you don’t need to do that during work. Just try to develop that on your own time.” “Like when you are shopping,” Ana said. “Follow me.” We walked up to an unattended counter. Ana said, “Steve, see if you can get anyone to help you here.” I walked up to the counter, put a look on my face as if I was a little lost, and waved around for help. Several clerks saw me from some distance away, but they did not do anything. “Perfect,” Ana said. “Now watch me.” She leaned against the counter with her back to the rest of us and bent over slightly. By doing so, her dress pulled up slightly, better exposing her calves and her high heels, and her behind was pleasingly prominent. She looked around as if she expected to find someone hiding behind the counter. “Hello,” she said in a loud voice. “Is anyone here?” One of the female clerks who had ignored me walked right up to Ana and said, “What can I do for you, madam?” Ana walked over with the clerk to one of the dress racks and began asking questions. Her body movements, the angle at which she turned her body when she addressed the clerk, and her eye contact with the clerk all had the desired effect. Within a couple of minutes, the clerk eliminated all pretenses of formality and was giggling and joking with Ana. I had the impression that Ana could have spent all day with the clerk if she had wanted. When she finished, Ana returned to us and said, “See? Women can be attracted to an aura of femininity as much as men.” We walked to the cosmetics section in a different part of the store. Maria swiveled up to the counter and occupied three female clerks for 15 minutes while asking questions about different kinds of makeup. Several customers, all women, gathered around as Maria tried on different cosmetics while talking to all of them about the merits of one product over another. The energy generated by the discussion was coming mainly from Maria, who asked the clerks and the customers for their opinions as she tried on different kinds of lipstick and rouges. She stood close to the women as she tried on the cosmetics, and touched several lightly on the shoulder when she asked them how she looked. “Just to prove that what Ana did was no fluke,” Maria said to us when she finished. “All modesty aside, Sharon, it takes many years to be able to project an aura like that. Keep your expectations reasonable for now.” “Maybe so,” Sharon said, “but there is no time like the present.” She walked across the aisle to the jewelry stands and began looking at watches. When she saw one she liked, she stood up very erect, turning her feet slightly outward and arching her back to increase the prominence of her breasts. It was like Sharon had flipped on a light switch. We could all feel the sensual energy emanating from her as she stood erect in her disarmingly sexy manner. Several people turned to look at her as they walked by. “Excuse me,” she said in a loud voice. “Is there anyone who can help me?” A female clerk hustled over and immediately started showing her different watches. Sharon relaxed from time to time but then stood fully erect again, and each time she did so it was as if a surge of electricity shot through the immediate area. A second clerk came to help her, and two customers, both women, stopped to offer their thoughts. “Where did she learn to stand like that?” Maria asked me. “I’m guessing she learned it from practicing yoga,” I responded. “Maybe Sharon has a thing or two to teach you.” When Sharon finished, we walked back to the car. Sharon confirmed that she had used her experience as a yoga instructor to develop her form of expression. “I don’t think I will ever be able to walk quite like either of you,” she said as we drove home. “But I’m pretty flexible, and I have been spending some time in front of the mirror lately trying different poses. I was going to show you the pose I used in the store at some point, but the opportunity presented itself today, and I went for it.” Ana gave Sharon a high-five and said, “Sharon, you are going to be one hell of a high-heel wearer.” We returned to our house and reflected on the outing while we enjoyed some coffee. Afterwards, I walked Sharon out to her car. Her heels clicked loudly on the sidewalk and her legs shimmered below her mini-dress. She was walking much better than she had a few hours before. “You are truly enjoying your transformation, aren’t you?” I asked her. “Absolutely,” she said. “I have a couple of geniuses for instructors, but I am still glad that I demonstrated today that we American girls aren’t complete ignoramuses when it comes to projecting our femininity.” She kissed me goodbye on the cheek and got into her car. “So what lesson comes next?” I asked. “I don’t know,” Sharon replied. “But stay tuned.” And she drove off. **** **** By the end of July, we all held our breath when Sharon walked very carefully and tentatively out of Maria’s and Ana’s favorite shoe store in 5-inch stiletto sandals. It was only a matter of a few more weeks until she was strutting with confidence. Sharon simply saw this as a new phase in her life. After her engagement ended in heartbreak the previous year, she had already wondered if a little glamour and pizzazz would lift her spirits, and meeting up with Maria and Ana convinced her that it was the right thing to do. She did not particularly think this phase would last forever, but she felt it was the right direction for her to go at the right time. And who were we to say she was wrong? On a Saturday in mid-September, Sharon, Ana and Maria spent much of the day shopping. They came back to my house in mid-afternoon and said a man at the mall had given them flyers concerning the opening of a new night club in our area that evening. I was OK with their suggestion that we all go, and agreed to meet at Bob and Ana’s house in the evening so we could drive to the new club together in their mini-van. The women dressed their best for the occasion: Ana in ultra-tight black spandex pants and 5-inch stiletto sandals, and Maria in a body-hugging, knee-length black leather skirt and 5-inch pumps. I still did a double-take when I saw Sharon, as she was in an especially short, tight blue miniskirt and an eye-popping pair of brand new, 5-1/2 inch stiletto sandals. Also new to us was Sharon’s date for the evening: Jack, a mild-mannered guy in his mid-50s, was a surgeon at the hospital where Sharon worked. As the six of us drove to the club in the minivan, Sharon explained that they had met a couple of weeks earlier at a reception for hospital employees. Sharon was off-duty at the time and had worn one of her now-characteristically short dresses and heels, so it came as no shock that Jack had shown an interest in her. On the way over, Maria asked Sharon whether she was ready to wear 5-1/2 stilettos out on the town, as the height was still new to her. Sharon replied that she wanted to try it, but she had brought an “old” pair of 5-inch heels as a backup in case the higher shoes proved to be too much. As if Sharon had been wearing 5-inch heels for years and years! We arrived at the club. The owners had obviously spent a lot of money to make it a nice, classy place, and so we did not mind paying a hefty cover charge. There was a good-sized dance floor, and a rock band was scheduled to play later in the evening. We ordered drinks and were sitting at a table talking when a representative of the night club approached us. He invited Maria, Ana and Sharon to join a fun competition organized to select the most attractive woman in attendance on the club’s opening night. The man promised the competition would be in good taste: the women would not be asked to dance or do anything sleazy or degrading, just simply walk out on the dance floor, acknowledge the audience and, in the case of the five finalists, answer some basic questions about themselves. Our three ladies did not hesitate in saying they would compete. Shortly afterward, a club employee made a public announcement about the competition and said all women could take part. We learned later that the club’s manager had identified the most attractive and best-dressed female patrons, including Maria, Ana and Sharon, and discreetly extended a personal invitation for them to participate. The competition began during the rock band’s first intermission. There were 17 women in total. As an announcer called their names, the women walked one-by-one out on the dance floor and waved at the audience and received varying levels of applause. It was pretty clear immediately that ten women (including Maria, Ana and Sharon) truly belonged in the competition, with the others entering in the spirit of fun. The rock band played its second set, and during the second intermission, the announcer read the names of the ten semi-finalists. As we expected, Maria, Ana and Sharon were among the ten, and they took turns walking out on the dance floor again to the applause of the audience. Our three ladies were among the five finalists announced during the rock band’s third intermission. The real competition began, and Ana was the first to be called. She walked onto the dance floor in her best Costa Rican style, wiggling her behind in a way that drew a loud applause. The announcer asked her some basic questions, such as her first name and what she did for a living. When she replied, “Bank teller,” several people in the audience wanted to know the name of the bank. The announcer asked Ana if she were married, and she said yes and pointed to Bob, which drew a mixture of cheers and good-hearted boos. For the last question, the announcer asked Ana where she was born, and her reply of Costa Rica also drew a loud applause. “And you thought people were going to Costa Rica to see the rain forests!” said the announcer, who received plenty of laughs from the line. The second contestant was an attractive brunette in a lacy top, pencil skirt and heels. She would have fit in well with our group. Maria was the third contestant. As I expected, Maria gave it everything she had, stepping out onto the floor with her flirty walk – one-two, one-two – which by itself drew an eruption of applause and some humorous leers from the announcer. In response to the announcer’s questions, Maria gave her name, said she was a business student at the university, and pointed me out as her husband. As with Bob, I got a mixture of applause and boos, and I thought I heard someone from the back of the club yell, “You lucky bastard.” When Maria responded to the last question by saying she was born in El Salvador, the announcer drew applause by saying, “I think we found our number one argument for having a liberal immigration policy, haven’t we?” The fourth contestant was a statuesque African-American woman in a stunning body-wrapping gold dress that drew ooh’s and aah’s from everyone in the building. Sharon was the last. Her previous two walks down the dance floor had been just fine in her 5-1/2 inch heels, but I still wondered if she was really ready to walk properly in such shoes in this kind of setting. She looked relaxed and confident as she strutted out on the dance floor, drawing just as much applause as the other four women. In her little question and answer session, she gave her first name, said she worked as a nurse, and drew especially loud applause when she said she was single. “You’re single and a nurse? I know a lot of guys who are going to make themselves very sick and get admitted to the hospital,” the announcer said to applause. Before leaving the dance floor, Sharon did her “stand at attention,” as we had decided to call it. She waved to the audience, but as she did so, she spread her feet slightly so that her toes were pointing outward instead of straight ahead. She stood up very erect and arched her back slightly, which also thrust her hips forward just a little bit. There was nothing obvious or slutty about it, but it was wonderfully sexy, and she drew the loudest applause of the night. I don’t even know how many people in the audience understood consciously what Sharon had done, but the impact of her sexy posture, whether conscious or subconscious, was substantial. Sexy posture. Every time she stood like that, the impact was stronger, and the degree to which she had perfected it was something to behold. She still had nowhere near the ability to swivel or wiggle like Maria or Ana. But she did not need to, as she had learned how to bathe the entire club in her own aura of femininity. Ana got fourth place, Maria got third, the African-American woman finished second, and Sharon won the competition. They called Sharon up for a final walk around the dance floor, and she positively beamed as she waved and blew kisses to the admiring crowd. The club’s photographer shot some pictures of Sharon, and when he finished, Sharon waved at the audience again. She stood up erect with her feet turned slightly out, and you could hear a slight but definite increase in the crowd’s applause level. I heard Maria turn to Ana and say, “One of these days, she is really going to need to teach us how she does that.” We spent the rest of the evening celebrating by dancing to rock ‘n roll. Things got a little crazy, as a couple of men approached Bob and I and asked for advice on how to meet Latin women. Sharon spent the rest of the evening close to Jack to demonstrate to would-be suitors that, while single, she did indeed have male accompaniment for the evening. She later said she regretted not pointing him out to the audience when she had a chance. When we left the club and got back to the minivan, Jack kissed Sharon and said, “You were magnificent.” While we had not had much of a chance yet to get to know him, Jack was clearly our kind of guy. A few tears welled up in Sharon’s eyes. “Sorry, I know this was just a silly little contest. But a few months ago, I was this rejected bride, trying to make a new life for herself. Steve knows that I was never the popular, glamorous type. Who would have thought anything like this could have happened to me? All of you, especially Maria and Ana, remade me into a different person and changed my life. Thank you, everyone. I hope I can do the same for you someday.” Maria, who was sitting in front of Sharon, turned back and said, “No, Sharon, you remade your own life. Ana and I gave you a little advice, perhaps, but you rose to the challenge you set for yourself to redefine who you are. I’m so proud of you.” She kissed Sharon on the cheek. Sharon and Jack spent the rest of the ride home kissing passionately like a couple of teenagers – not the kind of teenagers that Sharon and I were, but a couple of teenagers nevertheless. *** *** Sharon’s and Jack’s relationship progressed very quickly. It soon was obvious that it would only be a matter of time until Sharon left her apartment and moved in with Jack. We also learned that Jack was a bona fide high-heel lover. Since his divorce from his wife a number of years earlier, Jack had intended to only enter into a relationship with a committed heel-wearing woman who also met his high standards for intelligence and integrity. Sharon fit the bill perfectly. I thought it odd that a surgeon like Jack would be smitten with a taste for high heels, but Jack seemed very comfortable talking about it. He said he had been a physician for so long and had seen so many female bodies that, by itself, the feminine physique did little to interest him. He had been attracted to women in heels from his early teenage years. After his divorce a number of years earlier, he concluded that he could only be passionate about a woman who was committed to wearing heels. He talked about these intimate feelings of his with the detachment of a physician, and without embarrassment. He called us all “open-minded,” and said Sharon’s philosophy of wearing high heels as an expression of health was “brilliant.” Yes, Jack was our kind of guy. In October 1996, Jack and Sharon took a short trip to San Francisco. Sharon invited Bob, Ana, Maria and I to Jack’s house the following Saturday afternoon to socialize and to receive some gifts that Jack and she had bought for us on their trip. Not surprisingly, Jack’s house was in the most exclusive part of town. The 6,000 square-foot semi-mansion was impressive from the outside, and was even more impressive on the inside. Jack’s taste for fine art and furniture was evident in every room. In addition to being a surgeon and an admirer of art and architecture, Jack also prided himself on being an astute investor, and his investments clearly had done well. In other words, Jack was loaded. We were in the living room and chatting when Sharon brought in three gift-wrapped boxes. She gave one each to Maria and Ana, and kept the third for herself. “Jack knew about this store in San Francisco,” Sharon said. “We thought this was the least we could do to acknowledge what the four of you have done for me. Steve and Bob, these gifts are for you to enjoy, too.” The three women unwrapped the gifts. As I suspected, they were shoe boxes. Inside each box was a pair of black, 6-inch stiletto pumps. I think all our eyes opened wide as the women took the shoes out and began inspecting them. In the months since she had become friends with Maria and Ana, Sharon obviously had discovered what Bob and I had long noticed with our wives: Their taste in heels had a limit of 5-1/2 inches. Despite their devotion to being full-time heel wearers, neither Maria nor Ana owned or had ever worn any shoes higher than 5-1/2 inches. I had never given the matter much thought. After all, 5-1/2 inch heels are pretty darn high. And while I was aware that higher heels could be purchased in specialty stores, none of the four of us had ever seen a reason to patronize those kinds of businesses. Furthermore, the Internet was still new in 1996, and the thought of buying items like extreme heels on-line had never really occurred to us. Maria and Ana were silent as they held the heels in their hands. It was an awkward silence, and neither woman was trying on the shoes on, which was somewhat out of character for the two of them. “I know the two of you don’t have anything higher than 5-1/2 inches,” Sharon said to Maria and Ana. “I’m now at the point where I feel comfortable at 5-1/2 inches, and I think I’m ready for the next level. I thought it would be great if we could practice with 6-inch heels together. I know both of your shoe sizes, and Jack knew just the place that sells high-quality shoes of this type.” Maria and Ana looked at each other. It seemed to me that Ana was curious enough about the shoes to give them a try, but Ana by nature was far less assertive than Maria, and she looked to Maria to make the first move. I had seen the troubled look on Maria’s face many times, and I knew it meant trouble. “Look, Sharon,” Maria said awkwardly. “I know you did this with the best of intent, and I really appreciate the thought. Really, it was a wonderful gesture on your part. However, I don’t want to wear these shoes.” “Why not?” Sharon asked, more curious than hurt. “Perhaps you’ve misunderstood something about the way Ana and I express our femininity,” Maria said. Bad start, Maria. Do not patronize, just explain your concern. “Five-and-one-half inch heels may be too high for most women, but a skilled wearer can walk normally in them, and you do see them in general use. They are a legitimate expression of femininity,” she continued. “But 6-inch heels are something else. People do not wear them in public. Quite frankly, they are fetish shoes. They serve a different purpose entirely. I’m not into that.” Jack interjected, “I understand what you’re saying. You are right, you would not wear these shoes out for a night of dancing. But I do not agree that these are only fetish shoes. In large cities, women who are truly devoted to high heels will occasionally wear these shoes to restaurants and the like. Women who have developed the skills to wear truly high heels often like the challenge and the feeling of wearing heels like this. It can be an enjoyable, even intimate experience for the woman and her companion. It’s simply an extension of the kind of heel wearing that you are already doing. Sharon and I thought it would be something worth trying.” “I’m sorry, Jack. Maybe Ana is interested, but it is not something I feel comfortable doing,” Maria said. Sharon said, “We are not saying you need to wear these in public. Maybe we’ll just wear them in our homes. Come on, Maria, what can it hurt to give them a try right here? It’s just the six of us here.” “I’m very sorry, Sharon. I have to decline,” Maria said, with her head down. Ana nodded her head no in unison with Maria. “The last thing we want to do is push someone to do something that makes them uncomfortable,” Jack said, seeking to repair any damage that might have occurred. “Maria and Ana, we absolutely respect your feelings here. It’s no problem. We can return the shoes, and hey, that just gives Sharon and I an excuse to go back again to San Francisco.” We talked about other things for a while, but Maria said she had schoolwork to do, and we left much earlier than we had anticipated. Bob and Ana followed us out as well. Once Maria and I were in our car, Maria let out some frustration. “I can’t believe Sharon bought those shoes for us. I thought she knew us. I thought she understood us. The only people those shoes are good for are fetishists and hookers. Don’t you agree?” I was silent at first. I did not want to start a fight with Maria, but I had to speak my mind. “Maria, I don’t really care one way or the other whether you wear 6-inch heels. But I don’t think you handled things very well in there.” “Well, if you think I offended Sharon and Jack, I’d like to know how I could have handled it better. I will make it up to them somehow.” “That’s not the point, Maria. I don’t think you get it. You are the one who walks around in 5-inch heels everyday, and in effect you say to every woman you can find, ‘Look at me. I’m a real woman. I can wear heels much higher than you can.’ You enjoy challenging women’s image of their own femininity by asking them to accept yours. But now, for the first time since I have known you, somebody has actually challenged you, and you backed down. You not only backed down, but you justified backing down by saying the shoes are for fetishists and they are too extreme. Just the things that make you irate when other people, like your community college instructor, say those things about you.” “What are you trying to say?” “You relish challenging everyone else with your heels, but when Sharon challenged you with heels that she chose, you got offended and turned her down. That is hypocritical. Maria, whether you wear 6-inch heels is not important to me. What bothers me is that you were a total hypocrite today.” Maria stared straight ahead and thought for a minute. “Shit,” she finally said. “I hate it when you’re right.” “No, Maria, you simply hate it when you’re wrong.” “So you think I should try the heels?” “Accept Sharon’s gift. Accept her invitation to wear them around the house. If you don’t like them and never want to wear them again, then don’t. At least you accepted her suggestion to try them. Who knows? Maybe you’ll like them.” We got home. Maria went to the phone and called Ana, who had just gotten home herself. “Hello, Ana? You know, Steve and I were talking on the way home. Steve said a lot of things that made sense. I think I made a mistake….” After talking to Ana, Maria called Sharon and spent over an hour talking with her. They apparently patched things up quickly, as they gossiped and giggled like schoolgirls for most of their conversation. They agreed that the six of us would meet again at Jack’s house the following morning to resume where we had left off. When we arrived at Jack’s house on Sunday morning, we were greeted with champagne, a variety of cheeses and hor d’ouerves, and classical music. He went all out to create an atmosphere of class and sophistication to reassure everyone that there was nothing trashy or low-class about what we were doing. We all sat down at the table, and Sharon took her shoes out of the box first. “I am so sorry, I tried mine on yesterday after the four of you left,” Sharon said. “I would have waited if I had known you’d be back today.” “That is OK, Sharon. It was your idea, and you should be the first among us to go to six inches. Show us how it is done,” Maria said. Sharon put the shoes on the floor, stood up in her bare feet, slipped one foot into a shoe and then the other. She steadied herself again the table and then slowly took one step at a time around the room. “I am sure the two of you will get your bearings with your shoes long before I do,” Sharon said. “I wouldn’t bet a lot of money on that,” Ana said. “My turn.” She tentatively slid each of her feet into the shoes and stood there for a minute, getting the feel of them. “Oh, if mama could see me now,” she added. She, too, walked tentatively around the room, perhaps a little more fluidly than Sharon. All eyes turned to Maria. She got up and put one foot at a time into her shoes, and stood in place for a minute. “Wow, who would have thought a little half-inch could make such a big difference?” Then Maria walked around the room, slowly and cautiously. Sharon walked up to her and said, “Welcome to the world of decadence. Isn’t it fun to be just a little bit evil?” The ladies sat back down to rest, and Jack delivered an impromptu medical lecture. The difference between 5-1/2 and 6 inches was enough, he said, so that their balance and weight distribution would be different. Stresses on their feet, knees, and various tendons and muscles would be different, but he assured them that in short time they would be able to make the adjustment and walk elegantly, without the need to bend their knees excessively. After a short rest, the ladies walked around the room some more. We continued this way for several hours, socializing and munching while the women alternated between walking around the room and sitting with us. At one point, Maria stopped in front of a full-length mirror and began examining herself. Maria knew every angle, every curve, the precise projection of each part of her body at various heel heights, and so it was natural that she would want to study the precise effect that wearing 6-inch heels had on her figure. Sharon saw this and walked up next to Maria in front of the mirror. “That’s what I love…pure narcissism,” Sharon said. “You still need to teach me how to be like that.” “It is only part narcissism. The other part is being a technician, and knowing exactly how you look in different kinds of clothing and shoes so you can select the right combination for the right occasion. You should be in total control of your feminine expression,” Maria said. Ana joined them, and the three stood in front of the mirror in various poses, commenting on each other’s figures and the kinds of outfits that would go well with their new shoes. When we left to go home in the afternoon, each woman promised to continue to practice walking in their new heels at home. Each day that week, Maria put on the new shoes when she got home from the university, and she put them on a second time in the evening. She spent so much time on the phone with Ana and Sharon that I was afraid she would fall behind in her college studies. Her attitude about the extreme heels had clearly changed, but even I was surprised when, after talking to Sharon on Thursday evening, she said they were going to wear the heels to a Sunday brunch at a restaurant that Jack had selected. **** **** **** The restaurant that Jack had selected for our Sunday brunch was about a 90-minute drive away from our city, and the six of us decided to ride over in Bob’s and Ana’s minivan. Our three ladies all wore lower heels for the ride with the intent of putting on their 6-inch heels when we arrived at the restaurant. Maria and Ana dressed relatively conservatively for the occasion. Both wore long black dresses that, by their standards, were somewhat loose fitting. Sharon was a little more daring but still remained tasteful in a long-sleeve blue top and black miniskirt. On the ride over, Jack explained that we were going to an elegant restaurant at a private country club. “I am not a member of the club myself, but I am good friends with the owner of this restaurant. I removed his gall bladder a number of years ago, actually. This is a classy place and, since it is a private restaurant, you can dine in comfort knowing there won’t be any riff-raff to bother you. I do know that there are some women at this country club who are into extreme heels and ultra-fashionable clothing, so this will not be the first time they have seen 6-inch heels there. The owner knows we are coming. So we can all just relax and enjoy ourselves.” We arrived at the restaurant, which looked like a large estate house surrounded by a golf course. The ladies put their shoes down on the parking lot pavement and eased themselves into them. Maria put her arm around mine, the other ladies did likewise with their mates, and we walked slowly and deliberately towards the restaurant. Maria’s walking rhythm was definitely slower than normal but she had managed to become impressively smooth during her week of practice. It was nowhere near as sensuous as her more practiced walks with 5- and 5-1/2 inch heels, but in one way it was much more of a turn-on. Maria had been an expert heel wearer for years before we met, and for the first time over the past week, I had been seeing her struggle to learn to walk in a new kind of shoe. It was surprisingly enjoyable to see Maria do anything in heels that rated less than a perfect 10. I also glanced over to Sharon, who was next to me and maybe a foot in front of us, walking arm-in-arm with Jack. Her little miniskirt was bobbing up and down in a very sensual way as she walked, and my eye lingered on her for a little too long. I caught myself and looked at Maria, who had been observing exactly what I was doing. “It’s OK, you’re allowed,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. We arrived inside. The restaurant host complimented all of us on our attire and led us to our table. The restaurant was about two-thirds full, and it seemed like all eyes turned to our ladies as they walked through the restaurant as gracefully as they could. We took our seats, and then it hit me that this was a buffet brunch, in which we would all have to get up, walk to the buffet and serve our own food. An absolutely brilliant and masterful stroke on Jack’s part! I looked at the buffet stand on the other side of the room and turned to Bob, who turned to me and said quietly, “That Jack. He is our kind of guy.” We walked over to the buffet stand, which contained all kinds of wonderful food – eggs, salmon, pancakes, waffles, bacon and sausage and the like. A chef also was making omelets to order. Four of us filled our plates and walked back to the table while Maria and Sharon waited for the chef to make their omelets. Maria told me later that Sharon whispered to her while they were waiting, “Everyone in the restaurant is looking at us while we stand here. When we walk back to our table, let’s really give them an elegant show.” They walked back together, each one holding a plateful of hot food. Maria swayed gracefully from side to side as she walked; Sharon was a little more tentative, but she beamed with a cover-girl smile that more than made up for any technical imperfections with her walk. My only regret is that I had not brought a video camera to film it all. At the end of our meal, Jack and Sharon announced that Sharon had already given notice on her apartment and would be moving in with Jack at the end of the month. Furthermore, they said, they planned to formally announce their engagement at some point in the future, but they wanted the four of us to know first. Bob made a toast to Sharon and Jack. And then Jack insisted on making a toast, in which he said, “We’re six healthy, intelligent people who all share a special interest. We respect each other, and we respect the sanctity of our two marriages and a third soon-to-be marriage. While I am the newest member of this group, I think we have a special friendship, and we should not be afraid to explore new things that bring pleasure and satisfaction to us. I hope today sets the standard for what we can experience, as long as we are open with each other and support each other.” Here, here! Sharon then stood up. “Maria, Ana, I don’t want to repeat what I have said before. The two of you have done so much for me. I feel so close to the two of you, I want to think of us as ‘Las Tres Hermanas,’ which is Spanish for ‘The Three Sisters.’ Because that is how close I feel to you.” Sharon had a little tear in her eye, and we all applauded. Sharon continued, “Bob, you are a dear friend, and I would feel completely comfortable if I were alone with you in my 6-inch heels. Jack, you are going to be my life partner, and you know what that means to us. And Steve, I wanted to let you know that you are the reason I am now the person that I am. Maria and Ana were my role models, but Steve, I made the decision to change my lifestyle because of you. You and I were both shy, introverted teens who were not yet capable of grasping what life offered us. When I moved here at the beginning of the year, I saw how you had changed, with your gorgeous wife and two equally gorgeous friends. I saw how happy you were and I thought, if you made that change, I can make it, too.” The others all applauded. “Lastly, Steve, I want to give you something I should have given you when we were back in high school. I made a mistake at that time, and I want to make it right.” Maria stood up and let Sharon sit next to me. Sharon said, “Now don’t freak out, Steve. I got Maria’s approval to do this, and Jack’s as well.” She leaned over, put her lips on mine, and gave me a long kiss. It seemed like it went on for a minute, but Maria told me later it was exactly 10 seconds long, the length of time she had authorized. And the others applauded again. Before we left, several other patrons stopped at our table to compliment the ladies on their shoes and their ability to walk in them. Jack’s assurances about the open-mindedness of the patrons were indeed correct. Before leaving, we took out our digital cameras and took still photos of ourselves in the country club lobby. An employee graciously volunteered to take photos of all six of us. All in all, it was a perfect day. When we got home, Maria and I went right to bed and made love that was more passionate than we had experienced in some time. Afterwards, she lay in bed next to me, her six-inch heels still on her feet. Except for when she removed her stockings when we got home, she had not removed them since we arrived at the restaurant. “I feel liberated. It’s almost euphoric,” she said. “All these years, I defined my femininity by what my grandmother and mother had told me when I was a girl. Five-and-one-half inch heels are for elegant women, six inch heels are for prostitutes. I was living comfortably inside my box. A very big box, of course, but still a box. And Sharon came along and changed everything.” “You spent so many years challenging American women to accept your brand of femininity, and Sharon took you up on it,” I said. “Not only took me up on it, but she surpassed me and forced me to see my own limitations. That woman taught me a lot. Today was the first time that I have ever expressed myself in a way outside of what I learned in El Salvador. The very first time! I hope my grandmother forgives me, wherever she is.” “I’m sure she is very proud of you.” Maria snuggled up next to me. “I now see it is not really important if I challenge other women with my femininity. It is more important that I challenge myself, to see how far I can go in expressing myself. That is what I learned from Sharon. I don’t really know where we go from here. But you and I can figure it out, or the six of us can figure it out together.” “I am looking forward to it, Maria.” Maria got up and walked over to the closet, where she picked up a shopping bag and went into the bathroom. She stepped out a minute later wearing an extremely provocative dark-blue minidress and, still, her six-inch heels. “Sharon had the afternoon off earlier in the week, so we went shopping and she convinced me to buy this. I thought I might return it, but now I intend to wear it,” she said. “Women in El Salvador do not wear minidresses. But I am not bound by that any more, am I? I think that is my next step: Very short skirts and dresses.” She walked seductively towards me and got back into bed. “You get no argument from me,” I said. “Most women wear lingerie to bed. My wife wears minidresses and 6-inch heels.” “Just this once,” Maria said playfully. “I’ll wear this dress in public. But this seems like the right occasion to break it in. In honor of Sharon. What do you think? We should both dedicate our next orgasms to Sharon.” “You said that, not me, but it is a fine idea,” I said, rolling over on top of Maria and sliding my hand under her new dress. “Here’s looking at you, Sharon.” *** ***

Gosh, Kay, no one has ever asked me to make a request before. But since it is still wet and cold here in the Northern Hemisphere, how about something winter-like? Perhaps you have a short fur jacket, or other suitably feminine jacket, which might look good with FF stockings and sandals? Feel free to alter my suggestion to suit your taste.

Kay, my belated compliments on some gorgeous photos of a gorgeous lady. You also have a great, classy Web site. I'm glad I stopped by and caught your photos...better late than never! And Happy Valentine's Day to you, too.

Mazun: Your photos do more to promote world peace and understanding than any I have seen in a long time. My image of Russian women has changed forever. Thanks for sharing.

Thanks for the supportive comments, Raincat. I'm glad Ana held your interest, and I hope Maria does, too.